


Any Other Name For The Rose

by performativezippers



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: F/F, Rizzles, The Bachelor AU that no one asked for but i wrote anyway, Undercover AU, repost from FanFiction.net, some things i really like, some things i would change if i was changing things but i'm not, this one is ridiculous, unedited and unchanged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/performativezippers/pseuds/performativezippers
Summary: “Okay, fine. So it’s undercover. Who am I undercoverly bodyguarding?”He hands her a second piece of paper.“Um, what the fuck is this?” At his raised eyebrow, she adds a hasty “Sir!”“Your assignment, Rizzoli.”A long pause. “I’m sorry, I just – is this a joke?”A groan. “God damn it, Rizzoli. No, it’s not a god damned joke.”“Sorry, sir, I just…is this the right paper? Because this is an ad for The Bachelor, which seems like maybe you picked up on your personal time, or something, and isn’t related to our…” He shakes his head. “Oh, fuck.” He nods. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I’m going undercover on THE BACHELOR?? What is this, fucking Miss Congeniality? Do I look like Sandra fucking Bullock to you??”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost of this completed fic from fanfiction.net. I haven't edited or changed any of it, even though some things are screaming out to be edited. Just wanted this ridiculous piece of crap to live over here with all my other ridiculous pieces of crap.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Jane looks up from the paper in her hand, her jaw falling to the floor. “Is this a joke?”

“Sorry, Rizzoli. No joke. That’s your new assignment.” Her captain’s face is dead serious.

“Bodyguard duty. My new assignment is bodyguard duty?” Incredulous.

“There’s been a credible threat.”

“Put patrol on it! Station an officer outside his door! What could you possibly need me for?” Italian hands, flying around the air in anger and frustration.

“We need a detective, Rizzoli. Someone who they’ll trust, who can go behind the scenes. A patrol officer won’t be able to get the level of access we need here.”

“Okay, fine. But why me? I’m Narcotics!”

“We need a young woman. You’re the best young female detective we’ve got.”

A dark look, a resentful mutter. “I’m the only young female detective you’ve got.”

“Then we’re lucky that you’re good.” His façade cracks a little. “And so cooperative, too.”

“Okay, fine. So it’s undercover. Who am I undercoverly bodyguarding?”

He hands her a second piece of paper.

“Um, what the fuck is this?” At his raised eyebrow, she adds a hasty “Sir!”

“Your assignment, Rizzoli.”

A long pause. “I’m sorry, I just – is this a joke?”

A groan. “God damn it, Rizzoli. No, it’s not a god damned joke.”

“Sorry, sir, I just…is this the right paper? Because this is an ad for _The Bachelor_ , which seems like maybe you picked up on your personal time, or something, and isn’t related to our…” He shakes his head. “Oh, fuck.” He nods. “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I’m going undercover on _THE BACHELOR_?? What is this, fucking _Miss Congeniality_? Do I look like Sandra fucking Bullock to you??”

“No, Rizzoli, you’re not going under as a contestant. You’ll be the production assistant to the ladies. The producers got a lot of threats about violence against the female contestants. You’ll be protecting them.”

Jane drops her head into her hands for a moment before pulling up and looking him in the eye. “Not to gloss over the fact that you intimately know the plot of _Miss Congeniality_ , but this sounds like the most convoluted and stupid way to prevent violence against a TV show that I’ve ever heard.”

A long sigh. “I don’t disagree with you, Rizzoli, but one of the producers is tight with the Commissioner, and these are the orders that were handed down. Now get out of here, go home, and pack your bags. You’ll report to the set tomorrow.”

Jane looks down at the paper in her hands for a long moment. “And you’re sure this isn’t a joke?”

“Good luck, Rizzoli.”

“Fuck, sir.”

 

* * *

 

This is the most motherfucking stupid thing she has ever done. She didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, of course, orders being orders, but still. The most motherfucking stupid thing.

She’s wearing all black, which, apparently, will be her uniform for the next ten weeks. Her mane is pulled back into a slick ponytail and her practical shoes made the costumer nearly faint with horror. She’s got a Michael Jackson headset and microphone attached to her face, which honestly makes her feel more like a McDonalds employee than a pop star. And certainly nothing like the respected detective she’s worked her entire life to become. Six fucking months with the shield, and this is how she’s rewarded. Babysitting a bunch of spoiled, stupid, overly made-up girls with nothing better to do than throw themselves at a heavily muscled douchebag on network TV.

Tonight is the first night of the show. Tonight, the douche will meet the ladies for the first time as each emerges from a limo and does her best to shock, seduce, and titillate him within five seconds. Jane was introduced to him a few moments ago, and he was exactly what she expected: from his douchey name (Brockton McTavish, are you fucking kidding me) to his douchey hair and smarmy smile, to the way he blatantly checked her out – absolutely no surprises there. Why anyone would choose to talk to him, not to mention choose to spend weeks fighting other girls for him, is completely beyond Jane.

The first limo pulls up, and the women start climbing out. They all look exactly the same. Blonde, thin as hell, very tan, vapid looking. As soon as they leave Brockton (seriously, _Brockton_? Vomit) and enter the house, Jane walks over and introduces herself. Her task tonight is to memorize each woman’s name and face, so she can start matching the physical realities to the files she has at home. As soon as the fifth one comes in, Jane realizes this will be much harder than she imagines. She’s always prided herself on her good memory, but the horrifying sameness of each of these women begins to totally baffle her.

Wave after wave of women arrive, carrying with them the cloying scent of too much perfume and a grating high pitched titter of nervous excitement. _Natural blonde, dyed blonde, natural blonde dyed brunette to be edgy, obligatory person of color, dyed blonde, dyed blonde with obvious fake boobs, natural blonde_ – the parade seems endless. Tempting as it is to remember them by their dresses (black backless, black backless sparkles, red backless sparkles!), tomorrow the dresses will be different but the threat will be just as real. With a sigh, Jane forces her brain to remember and tries to still the horrible flashbacks of trying to memorize the periodic table high school chemistry.

Finally, after about 20 girls have flirted with Brockton and entered the house, someone different comes in. Jane notices her immediately. The air in the house seems to change. The air around this girl is different. Jane hangs back for a moment, watching her watch the other women. She doesn’t approach them, instead she holds herself just slightly apart – not quite hovering, but nearly. She’s gorgeous, and to the untrained eye she might seem like the rest – honey blonde, beautiful, kicking body. But while they look sexy or gaudy or opulent, she just looks classy. While their make-up and hair look like they took hours, somehow hers, while just as flawless looking, just seems natural. While they’re sizing each other up and fighting for positions already, she merely stands there, watching, with her head slightly cocked to the side.

She’s different.

Just as Jane is about to walk up to her, the producer signals Jane to pull back. Brockton is about to enter the house, and Jane has to remain off-camera. She’ll meet the final few girls, including this fascinating enigma in a moment.

 

* * *

  

For the rest of the evening, Jane pays special attention to this woman. Jane notices when she finally begins to engage with the other girls. Jane notices that it doesn’t seem to go very well: every time the woman approaches someone new, they extricate themselves quickly. The woman’s face is impressively neutral, a perfect poker face. Half of her cop brain is telling Jane to investigate this woman as a threat – what the hell other reason would this impassive woman have for being surrounded by woo girls for the next ten weeks?

But the other half is just drawn to her.

Finally, the cameras leave the group of women to focus on Brockton and his one-on-one time with some of the girls, and Jane gets the chance to introduce herself.

She finds the woman standing outside on the balcony overlooking the lights of Boston. She’s slightly bent over, leaning with her forearms against the railing, one heeled foot gently crossed over the other. As Jane approaches, she gently drops her head into her arms. Jane feels the movement deep in her chest.

“Not really hitting it off with the other girls, huh?”

The woman tenses, then takes a beat before lifting her head. She turns her face to Jane, her impassive mask seamless, leaving her body square to the night.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Why do you think that is?”

The woman cocks her head, scrutinizing Jane. It’s all Jane can do not to squirm. It goes on for far too long before the woman finally turns back to the view, leaving Jane to stare at her profile. “I suppose we don’t have much in common.”

Jane leans her right hip against the railing, squaring her body toward the woman. “What do you mean?”

“One of them is a babysitter. One is trying to be an actress, another a model. One sells cosmetics.”

Jane waits for the rest of the sentence, but it never seems to come. Finally, she prompts. “So?”

“I’m a forensic pathologist. I cut open dead bodies for a living. I spent two years in Africa identifying victims of plagues and genocides.”

Softly. “Oh.”

The woman looks wryly over at Jane. “Yeah. Oh.”

The sorrow in her eyes shoots down into Jane’s body and lodges somewhere underneath her ribs. It feels like a blue shard of ice, embedding itself into her body and drawing her into this woman. She’s never felt someone else’s sorrow so deeply. She’s never wanted to make someone smile more than she does now. But that’s weird, it’s strange, it’s scary. It scares her in a new and visceral way. She drops her gaze to her feet. “So, um, why’d you sign up for this? I mean, what’s the appeal for someone…like you?”

Without turning to Jane, the woman expels a breath that sits on the line between a laugh and a sob. “I’m not sure I know anymore.”

The shard twists inside Jane.

A few beats. “Are you okay?”

The woman studies her hands, clasped out in front of her, hanging out into the night. She seems to be actually considering the question. Finally, she responds. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.” She unclasps her hands, and straightens all the way up, floating her hands down to the railing. She looks at Jane. “Are you okay?”

Jane is struck by the question. She was expecting “what’s your name” or “why are you here” or “what’s your job.” But instead, this woman cut right to the chase. Is she okay?

Jane smiles. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

A long beat. The woman turns her head away again, looking out at the night.

Softly. “I’m Maura.”

“Jane.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jane isn’t surprised when Maura is given a rose and invited to stay on the show. A few girls sob as they leave the house, crying about the love that might have been. Jane does her best not to laugh in their faces. This entire premise is absurd. The idea that someone could have fallen that hard, hard enough to sob, for a stranger in just one night – preposterous.

But, then again, if Maura had been sent home, Jane would have been…disappointed. Frustrated, sad, even. She wouldn’t have sobbed though. Because that’s just absurd.

But still, she’s irrationally pleased that Maura will be sticking around. After Brockton leaves for the evening with his entourage, Jane and her production team release the women into the mansion to run around, squeal for the cameras, and jostle for the best bedroom spaces. One everyone is settled down for the night, Jane slips up to the top floor to begin her sweep of the house. Everything is quiet, secure, safe. No danger yet.

Making it down to the small living room in the back of the house, not a room they’ll film in much, but just a cozy little corner of couches and big screen tv, Jane lets out a breath. Day one, down. Only about 70 left until this stupid show is over and she can go home. Jane grabs a beer out of the minifridge and flops onto her back on one of the couches, turning on the Red Sox game and darting her eyes to the monitors in the corner that show the outer perimeter of the house.

After a few relaxing moments, she hears soft footsteps approaching and then stopping a few feet away. Jane lifts her head and sees Maura standing uncertainly in the doorway. She’s wearing black leggings and an oversize off-the-shoulder sweater over what looks like a tank top. She’s still made up but has glasses perched on top of her head. She’s barefoot and holding a thick white magazine.

“Hey.” Jane says it softly, because Maura looks like a startled animal.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect anyone to be down here. I’ll go somewhere else.” She turns to go.

“Maura, hey, relax. If you want to be alone, I get it, but if you’d like to read in here, I can put the game on mute.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

Jane can sense that Maura, despite her words, wants to stay. “You won’t be bothering me. Please, sit down.”

Maura nods, and then softly slips into the room. She settles herself on the other couch, sitting primly in the corner, her magazine on her lap. “Thank you. All the girls in my room wanted to go to sleep, but I wasn’t tired yet, so…”

Jane smiles at her. “Here, lemme mute this.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I can read through anything.”

An eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Of course.”

“Good skill.” Jane turns her eyes back to the game, but of her attention is still taken up by Maura. Jane notices the way she slips the glasses down onto her face and opens the magazine to the bookmarked page. Jane notices when she’s finally so absorbed in the reading that she forgets about her body, tucking her legs up under her, leaning against the arm of couch, and pulling the magazine closer to her face. Jane notices how she underlines, crosses out, and annotates every page.

After about half an hour of companionable silence, Jane turns to her. “This game is terrible.”

For a few seconds it seems like Maura wasn’t exaggerating and literally didn’t hear her. But then she sees Maura dragging her eyes off the paper. Almost as if she’s a robot, Jane can see her brain slowly click from reading mode to human interaction mode. “What makes it terrible?” She finally asks softly.

“They’re losing.” Jane deadpans.

“Sorry, who is losing?”

“Um, the Red Sox?” It’s not a question, but it comes out like one.

“That’s your team, I suppose?” Tentative.

“Maura, you’re in Boston. The Red Sox are everybody’s team.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Including yours.”

Maura does her best to hide the rush of pleasure that courses through her. She has a team. The same team as everyone else around her. In her struggle to control herself, she forgets to respond, stalling the conversation. Once she realizes her faux pas, she desperately casts her mind around for an appropriate topic she can bring up, but every topic she alights upon is wildly inappropriate for this situation. _Genocide. Desiccation rates of human versus bovine flesh. The average bacterial count on a passed tray of appetizers at a gala dinner._

Luckily, Jane doesn’t have the same problem. She levers herself up to a seated position. “Whatcha reading?” Maura inserts her bookmark and flips the magazine closed, handing it to Jane. “Oh, of course. The _Journal of Forensic Pathology_. Silly me, I must have left my copy at home.”

Maura’s eyes light up. As she leans towards Jane, the shy hesitant girl completely falls away, and in her place is an excited, passionate, and confident woman. “Oh, Jane, do you read the _Journal_? You really must read this issue; the paper on rehydration of desiccated dermal tissue is exquisite! Nash’s treatment of kidney crystallization is quite sophomoric, as I must say most of his work is, but Gerith’s analysis of the flawed implications of patella fracture patterns in multiple attacker scenarios is simply brilliant!”

Jane holds up her hands in surrender, laughing. “Whoa, whoa, Maura, I was kidding! I was kidding!”

Maura’s face completely falls. “…Wh-what?”

“I don’t read the _Journal of Forensic Pathology_ , sorry. And I didn’t really understand anything you said, but it all sounded like it would be super cool, if I knew what it was.”

Shy hesitant girl is back. Maura looks down into her lap. “I…I’m sorry.”

“No, c’mon, no, don’t apologize. I was being a jerk. I’m sorry. Will you, um, would you tell me about what those things are that you were talking about?”

“I think I should be getting to bed.” She unfurls her feet back to the ground and begins to rise.

Jane reaches out and grabs her wrist. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. Please, stay, and use smaller words. I really want to know what you were talking about.”

Maura looks down at Jane’s hand on her wrist, clearly uncertain.

“Please?”

A breath, and then Maura nods and softly returns to the couch.

“Okay, spill.”

Maura looks around her, horrified that she might be sitting in Jane’s spilled beer.

“I mean, explain.”

“Which article would you like me to explain to you?”

“Whichever one you like the most.”

Maura reaches over and gently takes the _Journal_ out of Jane’s hands. She flips to a page she’s folded down and begins to speak.

Jane smiles softly, and then turns her full attention to absorbing every word this beautiful woman is saying.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, about half the girls go out for a “date” with Brockton. As soon as they’re gone, Jane returns to her room and puts on her running clothes. As she’s tying her hair back, she’s startled by a soft knock.

“Come in!” She calls, not bothering to turn around from where she rummaging in her suitcase for a shirt.

“Um, hello.”

Jane straightens up and turns around, smiling brightly. “Hey, Maura! What’s up?”

Maura’s eyes seem glued to her abs. Jane looks down self-consciously at her sports bra. “I know I must have packed some shirts somewhere.” She says to try and break the tension.

“You have extremely well defined abdominal and oblique muscles, Jane. Definition like that is quite difficult for most females to achieve because of an anatomy oriented to safe gestation.”

“Uh, thank you?”

Maura suddenly seems to realize that she’s been ogling Jane’s stomach, and snaps her eyes up to Jane’s face. She rushes to speak through the blush that’s creeping up her neck. “You’re, um, going for a run?”

“Yeah, if I can ever find a shirt.”

An awkward silence fills the room. Finally, Jane breaks the tension. “Would you like to join me?”

Too quickly, “Oh yes!” Then a beat. “Or were you just offering to be polite? I can never quite tell.”

Jane smiles. There is something about this woman that’s just so goofy. “No, I meant it. Go change and meet me downstairs in five minutes. Is that enough time?”

Maura hesitates. “Make it seven?”

“Deal.”

Maura flashes her a beautiful grin. “Deal.”

 

* * *

 

Finding the perfect running partner is hard. They can’t be too much faster or slower, obviously, but it’s more than that. It’s about vibe. What if you want to listen to music and they want to talk? Or they like to push it for the first ten minutes and you like to push it at the end? What if they like hills and you like distance? What if they want to stop and talk to everyone you pass? What if all they talk about is the data from their nike fit app?

Maura, thank god, is the perfect running partner. She and Jane playfully challenge each other for the first mile or so until they settle into a perfect groove. Jane has one ear bud in, and Maura runs without music. They don’t talk much, but it’s not weird. It’s just great.

After about five miles, they slow to a walk to cool off. Jane pulls the ear bud out.

“What were you listening to?”

“Um, mostly hip hop. I just need a good beat for running.”

Maura nods.

“Do you always run without music?” Jane asks, still breathing heavily.

“Yes. I usually just think.”

“About what?”

Maura looks over, like she’s checking if Jane is genuinely asking her. It twists the blue shard of ice under Jane’s ribs to know that so few people have ever really wanted to know what she’s thinking about.

“I usually use the time to think about any pressing questions from work, or any scientific anomalies that are challenging me. Sometimes about the book I’m reading or an artwork I’ve seen.”

“Is that, um, I mean, do you find that fun?”

Maura draws her eyebrows together, puzzled. Jane presses on. “I mean, I have to listen to something fun, otherwise I can’t get myself to start running.”

Maura cocks her head, considering. “I’m not sure ‘fun’ is the word I would use, but I find it very pleasurable. And calming. I like having the time to just think, to puzzle things out.”

“Cool.” They share a soft smile before heading back into the house.


	3. Chapter 3

Jane spends the rest of the day working through her files on each of the girls. Running background checks, financials, known associates or priors. A couple of the girls ping the system for having boyfriends arrested for drugs or domestic violence charges. Jane makes a note of their names and resolves to keep a close eye on how Brockton treats them. But, other than a veritable slew of traffic violations and underage drinking citations, she ends the night with nothing. None of these women seem at all suspicious. Organizing and hiding the files, Jane decides to leave her investigation of the crew for the next night. With a groan, she realizes that it’s after midnight and her shift with the women starts at 6am.

This job totally sucks.

But, as she drifts off to sleep, somehow she isn’t thinking about how much the job sucks. She’s thinking about one particular young woman with flashing green eyes and a wicked smile buried deep beneath a powerful façade.

 

* * *

 

She spends the morning making sure the ladies are fed, made up, and ready for the second group date of the week. Jane’s assigned to babysit this one, which would be a total drag except that Maura’s going on it. The date card (the useless plot device that gives a totally transparent clue about the date) said something about “horsing around,” which only a couple of the girls were too stupid to realize meant horseback riding. When Jane finally gathers all of them in the living room, she’s unsurprised to see that a few are wearing shorts and flip-flops, wildly impractical horse attire. Maura, of course, Jane is pleased to note, is wearing stretchy jeans and knee-high boots with a sturdy two-inch heel. Jane is neither allowed nor inclined to tell the dumbies to change. With a wink to Maura, she just ushers them all into the limo for their “date.”

The ranch is about an hours drive from the mansion. This part of western Massachusetts is beautiful, with rolling hills and a surprising amount of farmland. Jane loves it. Of course, it would be better if she weren’t in charge of entertaining 12 bored young women while the cameras set up for their shot of the legs emerging from the limo.

This shit is just so stupid.

But, finally, emerge they do.

Some of them squeal about the horses, gush about their childhood love of horses, and run around, enjoying the fresh air. A few look haughty and bored, ambling toward the barn and asking each other if they think Brockton will be shirtless. Two of them clutch each other in a blind panic. “OH MY GOD, NOT HORSES. I’M SO FUCKING SCARED OF HORSES.” “Say it again, but don’t curse this time.” “OH MY GOD, NOT HORSES. I’M SO EFFING SCARED OF HORSES.” “Great.” Jane takes a mental bet with herself that they’ll cry by the end of the date.

Maura, in the meantime, has wandered over the corral and enticed a stunningly beautiful chestnut over to her. As Jane approaches her, she climbs onto the fence to better scratch behind the lucky bastard’s ears, muttering softly to it. She settles herself astride the fence, leaning back against one of the posts, with the horse’s head in her hands. She looks like a motherfucking goddess.

“Made a new friend?”

Maura looks over at her, quizzically.

“The horse, Maur.”

“Oh. Um, well, I suppose. I don’t know much about that, though.”

“What, about horses? You seem to be doing a pretty good job there.”

“No.” A pause. She takes a breath. “About having a friend. I…don’t really, have, um…”

The blue shard under Jane’s ribs expands and twists, cracking her ribs and nearly puncturing her lung. _Make her smile, make her smile_. “What am I? Chopped liver?”

Instead of smiling, Maura just looks even more confused. “…Liver?”

Jane half-laughs, half-groans. “I mean, hello, kind of rude to say you don’t have any friends when I’m standing right here, isn’t it?”

Maura is startled. She’s never considered this. “I – um, are you…?”

Jane gets a most serious look on her face, and says in her deepest voice, “Most assuredly yes.”

She’s expecting a blinding smile, but instead, Maura ducks her head so Jane can just see a smile teasing her mouth and blush creeping up her neck. After a moment, she looks back up and catches Jane’s eyes. She’s controlling her mouth, but her eyes are grinning. It’s the fucking cutest thing Jane has ever seen.

_Make her smile again, make her smile again_. “And you’re in luck, you know. Cause that horse might be a bigger friend than I am, but I’m the friend who smells better, and that’s what counts.”

The producers call them over to line up for Brockton.

Maura kisses the horse on the nose, and slides off the fence in a fluid motion. She walks past Jane, then pauses and turns her head to make smoldering eye contact. “Oh, Jane,” she says, in a wildly seductive voice. “You know size doesn’t matter if you’re doing it right.” And with a wink, she’s gone.

 

* * *

 

As expected, a few of the girls cry about getting on the horses. Brockton has to comfort them with his giant beefy arms before they do it. They say things like “love is about trust” and force themselves to do it. Jane feels bad for them. Others nearly cry about having to put on chaps and loaner boots to ride. Jane feels gleeful about them.

Many of the girls have been on horses before, but, simply because he’s there, they all need Brockton to help them up. All, except one. Sweet, beautiful, totally oblivious Maura has already swung up onto her horse without the aid of man or machine, and is currently putting it through its paces in the ring. Before most of the girls have figured out which way is go and which is stop, Maura and her horse are jumping over some of the very low jumps set up around the perimeter. She’s graceful and sleek, totally one with the horse. And totally doing the one thing that will make the other girls hate her.

They think she’s showing off, but she’s just enjoying herself. This is something she can do, so she’s doing it. The cameramen zoom in on her, and then on other girls throwing shade on her. Jane cringes, but can’t interfere. To Jane, it’s obvious. Maura doesn’t know the rules of girl world. But all she can do is watch.

The rest of the date, unfortunately for Maura, is the same. The other girls pretend to be worse at riding than they are so Brockton will come over and mansplain some things to them. The rest gossip together and pay as little attention as possible to their horses. Maura rides a bit off to the side, speaking softly to her horse and making it do some complicated things with its feet.

The ride ends at a riverbank, already set up for a picnic. The girls purposefully exclude Maura, and she eats on the corner of a blanket with most of the women’s backs to her. Her façade is perfect. She seems undisturbed, and a little conceited, but Jane’s seen happy Maura, and she knows it isn’t this. The shard in her gets colder, more brittle, and threatens to snap her in half.

The ride back to the limo is excruciating for Jane, who is ridiculously following the horses in golf cart with another PA. Maura tries to speak with a couple of the girls twice, and each time she’s rebuffed so quickly and sharply that Jane can’t believe there isn’t a sound effect. When they reach the corral again, Maura walks her horse over to the corner and slides off him quickly. As Jane grabs a load of picnic supplies out of the cart, she sees Maura reach up and hug her horse. Supplies forgotten, Jane’s heart breaks as she watches Maura cling to the horse, taking slow deep breaths that seem to catch every once in a while, making her back shake a bit.

The shard punctures a lung.

After a moment, Maura collects herself, pulls away from the horse, and with a last kiss on his nose, walks into the limo and doesn’t look back.

 

* * *

 

After the ranch, everyone goes to a French restaurant back in Boston for dinner. Maura sits at the end of the table, the furthest from Brockton. Their waiter has a thick accent, and is clearly struggling to understand the orders. When it’s her turn, Maura orders in perfect French. The man chats her up for a moment, and then asks her some clarifying questions about the other orders. She flawlessly and gracefully answers all his questions and deflects his flirtations. By the end of the meal, he’s clearly in love with her, Brockton has no idea who she is, and all the other girls hate her a little more.

And she knows it.

 

* * *

 

That night Jane finds her curled up in the corner of the small living room, reading a different journal. She’s showered and changed into loungewear. She’s washed off all her makeup and she looks beautiful and vulnerable. Jane hovers in the doorway, trying to decide if Maura wants to be alone or if she’d welcome Jane’s company. She watches as Maura reaches up to silently wipe away a tear, without taking her eyes off the page she’s reading. What really breaks Jane’s heart isn’t that Maura’s crying. It’s how practiced she clearly is at this. At wiping her own tears, at working through her own pain alone. At barely noticing the tears.

Before she’s made a decision, Jane’s inside the room, sitting down quietly next to Maura.

“Rough day, huh?”

After a moment, Maura nods softly. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I thought…I don’t know. I thought it would be different.”

Jane doesn’t know what to say. After a few moments, Maura continues. She speaks softly, calmly. She reminds Jane of a true believer at confession. “I know that being good at something isn’t always a good thing. I learned as a child that being the best in classes meant no one wanted to be friend. I learned that winning at fencing or getting the solos in ballet meant that everyone hated me. I know that. I **know** that. But, I just…I hate it. I hate it and I don’t understand it. We went horseback riding and I’m good at horseback riding and I don’t understand why that made them hate me. And I was sent to boarding school in France when I was ten, and I speak French, and for some reason that I simply cannot grasp, that’s appalling to them. And I just – God, I just want…” She drops her head into her knees. “I don’t know.”

Jane reaches over and rubs her back softly, saying nothing. Maura hasn’t finished yet.

“I feel like I’ve been lied to my whole life, and I’ve lied to myself too – I’ve always believed that being the best was good, that if I worked hard and became good, exceptional, at something, I’d be admired. But never once, never once has it happened.” Her breath catches, just for a moment. “I just want, for once in my life, for being good at something to actually make me happy.”

The shard has taken over Jane’s entire torso, stealing her breath. All she can do is rub Maura’s back and try to clear the red from her vision before she murders all the other girls in their beds. After a few moments, she casts around for something to ask Maura, something that might bring her back a bit.

“You seemed like you were having a good time with that horse this afternoon. Were you making it do something weird with its feet?”

Maura lifts her head off her knees. Her eyes are dry but red, and Jane has to resist the urge to gently touch her face. She looks at her hands. “I – yes. It’s called dressage. I used to compete in it, at school.”

“Were you any good?”

Maura looks up at Jane, sharply. Sensing only comfort and safetly, she nods once, dropping her gaze back down to her hands.

“Was it fun?”

An unexpected chuckle rumbles out of Maura. She rubs a hand over her face and leans back, finally unfolding her body as she reclines against the cushions.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it fun, but there was one time in college, I don’t know what came over me, but they were cutting the funding to our equestrian program, and I was quite upset. So I competed in a big dressage competition completely naked.”

Jane’s brain misfires a couple times. “You – what?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Jane leans back, mirroring Maura and ending up a bit closer to her. “Sounds…uncomfortable.”

Maura laughs. “Yes, quite.”

_I made her laugh, I made her laugh_. A moment of companionable silence.

“Did you get the funding back?”

Maura turns her head to look over at Jane. “Yes. Yes we did.”

“Nice.”

“I was pleased.”

“I bet you were.” Jane softly punches Maura’s arm, because she’s feeling a lot of things and has no idea what to do with them.

“Hey!” Maura swats her arm away and somehow ends up dropping her head onto Jane’s shoulder.

“No, seriously though, Maura, that’s awesome. Doing something like that – it’s pretty badass.”

“Really?” Her voice is small, pleased.

“Yeah, totally badass.”

Jane can feel Maura’s soft smile shrinking and softening the icy blue shard, extricating it from her lungs and nestling it back below her ribs.

For a few moments, neither dares to move for fear of disturbing this precious unspoken equilibrium. But, after a while, Maura stirs and announces that it’s bedtime. Jane walks her to her door, but before she turns away, Jane simply cannot resist one more thing.

“See, I told you I was a better friend than that horse.”

Maura’s soft smile turns positively wicked. “Indeed, you are. But remember: my last friend was my horse in college, and I rode her naked.” She opens the door and tosses the last words over her shoulder. “For hours.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next day is a pool party before the big rose ceremony, where Brockton will say goodbye to two more girls. Pool parties obviously let both Brockton and the audience see the girls in bikinis, so the producers have already told Jane to prep for several more day-long pool escapades in the coming weeks.

Jane, in her ubiquitous black, is standing around the pool, sweating balls, as the girls trickle out of the house and cover themselves with tanning lotion. It’s her job to be attuned to the comings and goings of the girls, but it’s not professionalism that makes Jane aware of the moment that Maura emerges.

Unsurprisingly, her bathing suit, while still a bikini, is slightly less revealing and slightly more sexy than the other girls’. She looks fucking phenomenal. She heads over to a lounge chair and gently covers herself in SPF 50 before angling an umbrella over her head and settling down with yet another thick medical journal. It isn’t two minutes before a producer hustles over and pulls the journal from her hands, replacing it with _Vogue_. As soon as his back is turned, Maura makes eye contact with Jane. Maura quirks an eyebrow and Jane rolls her eyes. Maura’s smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, and she wrinkles her nose just a bit.

Jane feels a lot of feelings.

Maura opens the _Vogue_ , and focuses on it just as intently as she does her journals, folding down several pages and at times bringing the magazine right up to her face to examine something.

It’s endearing as shit.

A few hours later and Jane is absolutely sweltering. Summer in Boston isn’t kind to begin with, and the combination of heat and humidity certainly isn’t doing anything for Jane’s hair, complexion, or attitude. All of the girls, including Maura, have taken several dips into the pool, and all of the girls, except for Maura, have gotten in splash flights with Brockton or tried to get on his shoulders. Maura tried to speak to him once, outside of the pool. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head at her body, but he didn’t seem the least bit interested in what she had to say. Once he’d seen enough of her cleavage to tide him over, he promptly jumped in the water to flirt with someone else, splashing Maura in his haste to get away.

Brushing the droplets off her arms and stomach, she’d gone back to her chair and buried her nose in her magazine.

Jane knows that she’ll be eliminated tonight. It’s not really a question. Jane’s conflicted about it. Maura is the only person she actually likes talking to, not to mention these weird extra feelings, so she’ll be kind of devastated when the doctor leaves the mansion. But watching Maura be rejected by people who don’t even deserve the right to be near her is more painful than Jane could have imagined. Maybe letting Maura get out of this toxic hellhole will be the best thing, and it’s not like Jane can’t call her, or hang out with her when this ridiculous assignment is over.

Never seeing Maura again honestly doesn’t cross her mind as a possibility of how life could be.

Lost in thought about what it would be like to see Maura outside of this house, when she can be Detective Rizzoli again, Jane doesn’t notice anything amiss until a girl screams.

“OH MY GOD! CHLOE!”

Jane’s head snaps around, and it takes her only a second to process that one of the girls is floating face down in the pool, her arms and legs spread eagled in the water.

Instantly, several things happen.

More screams fill the air. The closest producer jumps into the water. He and one of the least hysterical girls flip Chloe over and pull her to the edge of the pool. She’s not coughing or moving on her own.

Maura leaps out of her chair and is at the side of the pool in a second, helping them pull the limp body out of the water. She and another girl lay her out on her back and Maura kneels next to her, immediately getting to work.

“SHE’S DEAD, OH MY GOD, SHE’S DEAD.” Maura ignores the hysterical screams and, for once, her calm façade seems to be helping. Everyone falls silent.

She pulls her own wet hair out of her way, and listens for a breath while she feels for a pulse. Sitting up on her knees, she begins compressing Chloe’s chest, rhythmically compressing and compressing. She looks up, making eye contact with a cameraman and a producer. “You, call an ambulance, now. You, bring me the big med kit. Run.”

After what feels like forever, Maura stops compressing her chest and quickly runs her hands down Chloe’s neck before tilting her head back and beginning mouth-to-mouth.

The sound of techno dance remixes horribly permeates the air. No one has turned it off. Most of the girls are huddled in groups, holding each other and sobbing softly. Brockton and the girl he was having alone time with coming running up and he immediately takes three girls in his arms as he processes what’s happening. The cameramen continue to film.

Jane is rooted to the ground.

Mid-way through the second round of chest compressions, something changes. Like a miracle, Chloe starts to cough.

Maura quickly rolls her onto her side, letting Chloe weakly cough out the water onto Maura’s legs. With one hand, Maura holds her neck still, and with the other she rubs small circles into Chloe’s back. Only now does she start to speak. “That’s it, that’s it. You’re okay. You’re okay, mchumba. You’re okay. Just keep breathing, okay, Chloe? You’re doing great.”

As her coughing begins to slow, Maura, still muttering soft reassurances to her, starts intently feeling her neck and head. She looks up at the person closest to her, a girl named Kelly who seems to have kept her head. “I need an unopened bottle of water and two clean towels. Right now.” Kelly runs.

The cameraman runs up with the big med kit, and Maura digs in it, pulling out a couple things, but clearly not finding what she wants. She orders him to bring her a magazine off a nearby lounge chair, and she quickly rolls it up to use as a stethoscope for a few seconds. “Okay, mchumba, you’re doing great. I need you stay nice and still for me, okay?” Maura keeps speaking softly as she shines a penlight into each of her eyes. She asks Chloe her name and address as she softly manipulates arms and legs, checking for fractures. She has her recite the alphabet while wiggling her fingers and toes and seems satisfied with everything she finds. “Great job, Chloe. You’re doing great, you’re going to be just fine, mchumba.”

Kelly comes back with the towels and water. Maura rolls one up and edges it under Chloe’s neck to keep her head still before rolling her onto her back once again. Then she opens the water bottle, and Chloe clearly starts away from it. Maura places a calming hand on her head, and smiles down at her softly. “You’re not going to drink it, mchumba. I just need to clean out this cut on your head. Don’t worry, okay chu?”

At a soft nod, Maura carefully pours the water onto her forehead, tenderly keeping it out of her eyes. Patting the area dry with the other towel, Maura gently applies butterfly bandages as the paramedics finally run in.

Without even making eye contact, Maura asserts her dominance. Keeping her hands on Chloe, Maura merely says, “I’m Doctor Maura Isles. Concussion, no apparent skull fracturing, and near drowning. Hand me your stethoscope so I can finish my examination.” She holds out her hand like a surgeon on TV, and, after the paramedic hesitantly places it in her palm, she quickly listens to Chloe’s breathing. “Good job, chu.” She smiles at Chloe and then turns to the paramedics, speaking quickly and technically about what she’s found. She secures the neck brace on Chloe herself, and then, in a remarkable show of strength, helps them lift her onto the stretcher.

Chloe won’t let go of her hand. Maura reaches down and brushes some of Chloe’s hair out of her face. “They’re just going to take you for some tests, Chloe. You’re going to be perfectly fine. You’ll be home tomorrow, okay, chu?”

“Thank you,” Chloe whispers.

Maura smiles, squeezes her hand, and lets the paramedics wheel her away.

There is a moment of silence.

“Oh my god,” a soft voice breaks through. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.” Soft agreements ripple through the girls as they squeeze each other and wipe their eyes.

Suddenly, Maura looks small and tired, standing alone in the middle of an empty expanse of deck. Jane realizes that she’s still in just her bathing suit, covered in regurgitated pool water and faint traces of blood. Jane grabs a robe and goes to bring it over, but a producer pulls it out of her hands. “Brockton. Bring this over to her.”

Brockton does as he’s told, and Jane tries to keep her feet rooted to the ground, even though every cell in her body is screaming for her to run over to Maura and gather her up and hold her for a couple hours.

Maura accepts the robe, and Brockton steers her over to seat for a private conversation. Jane wrenches her attention away from them and does her best to soothe the other girls and straighten up the deck. Sooner than she expects, she feels a small hand on her back. Straightening up and turning around, she sees Maura. “I’m going to take a shower,” the doctor says softly.

Jane reaches up and gently tucks a piece of hair behind Maura’s ear. “Do you need anything?”

Maura smiles and leans into the eye contact. “No, thank you.” She reaches out and gently touches Jane’s hip. “Thank you for the robe.”

Jane’s eyes widen in surprise, but before she can say anything else, Maura is already gone.

 

* * *

 

They decide to still have the rose ceremony tonight, which Jane finds insane but unsurprising. All the girls are reserved, but do their best to perform for the cameras and Brockton.

Maura gets the first rose, and she’s the only one surprised by it. Brockton makes a big speech about how lucky they all are to have her, and she does her best to look demure and pleased. He video chats Chloe to offer her the second rose and, from her hospital room, she gleefully accepts. The producers nod happily to each other at how well that worked out.

After the roses are given out, and two heartbroken girls leave, the rest swarm around Maura, asking her rapid fire questions about Chloe.

“What actually happened to her?”

“Her injuries are consistent with what I might expect to find from someone who jumped into a pool, hit their head against the bottom or side, and, once unconscious, breathed in a great deal of water.”

“Where did you learn to do that?”

“In medical school.”

“Have you ever saved anyone before?”

“Yes.”

“Was that the scariest thing you’ve ever seen?”

Maura looks over at Jane in a panic, and she immediately sweeps in, ushering the girls off to their dinner. Maura turns to follow them, but Jane reaches out and grabs her hand. “You okay?” She asks softly.

Maura nods, clearly trying to put her mask back on.

“Hey,” Jane says softly, squeezing her hand. When Maura’s eyes meet her own, she smiles down at her. “You’re a badass, remember?”

Maura chuckles softly and squeezes back once before dropping Jane’s hand, squaring her shoulders, and walking resolutely into the dining room.

 

* * *

 

Later that night, Jane is lying in bed, not quite asleep. The lights are off, but she doesn’t need them to see the flashbacks of the day playing on a loop in her head. It’s only when images of another body, wracked with pain and abuse, flickers over Chloe’s that she rubs her hands over eyes, and it’s only when the smell of smoke mixes with chlorine in her memory that she groans, flips on the light, and sits up, scratching her scalp and trying to will her brain to quiet down.

A soft knock at the door has her reaching for her gun before she comes to her senses and calls out, “Come in.”

Maura stands hesitantly in the doorway, one hand up on the jamb and the other tucked behind her back. She’s wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants that fall to just below her knees. She’s barefoot and looks about ten years younger than Jane has ever seen her.

“Hey.” Jane’s voice is huskier than usual in the darkness, and Maura shudders softly.

“I, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I was just…there are other people in our living room, and I, um…”

She’s flustered and it’s adorable. Jane doesn’t miss that she’s called it _our living room. Ours._ Her heart contracts happily while her stomach flips around like a tumbleweed in a windstorm.

“Hey.” Softly. “Come in.”

Maura gently slips inside and closes the door slowly behind her. She looks around, and Jane belatedly realizes that she’s looking for somewhere to sit and has only just now noticed the distinct lack of chair. Jane pulls back the covers and pats the spot next to her.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“It’s the bed or the floor, Maur. Come on, don’t be an idiot.”

Maura eases into the bed, and leans against the wall, mirroring Jane. She plays with her hands. She doesn’t make eye contact. She’s all tender inside. She’s used up every ounce of her courage knocking on the door, and now she’s just here. In the bed.

Jane knows. “Big day, huh?”

Maura nods, still looking at her hands.

“First rose.”

“Yes.” Maura sighs. “First rose.”

“You don’t sound happy.”

She still doesn’t look up. “Should I be?”

Jane shrugs. “Most people here would be.”

“Most people here wouldn’t have gotten it because they adequately performed CPR.”

Jane chuckles, stretching her arms over her head for a moment. “No, you’re probably the only one in that particular situation. But you didn’t just get it because of that.”

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” Her voice is sharper than Jane has ever heard it. “Don’t lie to me. We both know why I got that rose tonight, and exactly what would have happened if Chloe hadn’t hit her head. I’m not an idiot, Jane, and I don’t appreciate being condescended or lied to.”

Contrition immediately floods Jane. “Shit, Maur, I—you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Maura reaches over and gently entwines their fingers. “It’s alright.” Her touch soothes Jane, and they both fall silent, just feeling each other.

After a moment, “Can I tell you something?”

Jane squeezes gently. “Anything.”

“I haven’t worked on a live patient since I was in Africa.”

“Was that why you were calling her, um, what was it?”

“Mchumba, yes. It’s ‘sweetheart’ in Swahili. I’m unaccustomed to comforting injured people in English. It just came out.”

“I don’t think she minded.”

“No, I don’t think she did.”

The silence is filled with unspoken words. Finally, she can’t take it anymore. “What is it, Maur?”

A deep breath. “In Africa, there was a man.” Jane’s heart plummets. “There was a man, and we were…involved.” A beat.

“You loved him.”

“Oh, yes. I loved him. And I think he loved me. In a way.”

“But not the same way?”

“No. Not the same way.” Her voice is thick. Jane’s blood rushes around in her body. “He wasn’t—he was a wonderful doctor. He is a wonderful doctor. But, he never—well.” A deep breath. “He had a lot of opportunities to pick me, to make what we had real, and he didn’t.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I thought I was over it, that my neurochemical reaction to him had abated. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in nearly a year. But today…I don’t know. I, um…you know what, never mind.” She starts to leave, but Jane holds her hand firmly.

“Wait.” Jane reaches over and snaps off the light before scrunching down to lay flat on her back. “Lay down.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s always easier to say these things laying down in the dark. It’s a scientific fact.”

“It most certainly is not.” But they can both feel the other smiling in the dark.

“Use the scientific method, Maura. Test my hypothesis.” But Maura is already sliding down between the sheets. She tucks her right hand under her head, her left easily finding Jane’s again.

Staring up at the ceiling, she softly speaks. “When I was with him, when I saved someone I’d go to him and he’d tell me he was proud of me. And if I lost someone, he’d tell me that I’d done my best. He was there for me, each time. And today, when Brockton came over to me, after, for a second, just a split second, I thought it was him. I thought it was Ian. And it wasn’t, obviously. And I shouldn’t have been disappointed because I came here to forget Ian. And I left Africa because Ian wouldn’t love me enough and so I shouldn’t miss him or want him or think about him. But I’ve never…I’ve never saved someone and not had him to hold me and tell me he was proud of me. And then when Brockton told me that I was ‘totally hot’ and ‘scary impressive,’ his words, obviously, I just felt…letdown. Empty.”

Jane is running her thumb up and down Maura’s. She squeezes, hard. She waits a few moments, until she knows her voice will stay steady. “I don’t know Ian, but I know that if he picked the job, or his freedom, or whatever bullshit he called it, over you, then he’s an idiot. He’s an idiot, Maura, because you’re incredible. You’re passionate, and sweet, and incredibly strong, and you’re breathtaking, and you’re—you’re just this incredible person. And if he wasn’t smart enough to see that, then he’s an idiot. And a douchebag. And you can do so much better. I know you can, and I know you will. With Brockton or with…whoever.

“And what you did today was totally badass. If you hadn’t been there, Chloe would have died, and I know that for a fact. You saved her life today, and I’m not going to tell you that I’m proud of you because that feels, I don’t know, condescending, I guess. And I’m not going to call you scary impressive because I’m not afraid of you, but I will tell you that I’m absolutely in awe of what you did today. You were this unbelievable mix of professional badass and, like, soft caretaker, and I had no idea that was even possible. I’m in awe of you, Maura, and I just wish you knew how awesome you are.”

Jane politely pretends not to notice Maura wiping her face or shaking the bed softly when her breath catches.

After some minutes in silence, Maura rolls onto her left side and gently tucks herself into Jane’s space. Jane, without even thinking, matches her movement, putting them face to face with a few inches of air between them as she lays her arm over Maura’s waist.

When she’s about sixty percent asleep, Maura’s small voice pulls her back.

“Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“That wasn’t anywhere near the scariest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The smell of scorched earth, the screams of a child, the feeling of her own blood pouring down her body. Jane shudders and pulls Maura in flush against her, banishing the memories and overloading her senses with softness.

“Me neither.”

Maura sighs and relaxes, her body melting into Jane’s. “Goodnight, Jane.”

“Goodnight, mchumba.” Jane feels Maura smile against her chest as she drops a kiss on her head. “Sleep well.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next day Maura goes on a group date. They go and do something or other, and it’s all fine. Brockton pays her cursory attention at first, still to thank her for saving Chloe, but quickly forgets about her. Maura does a phenomenal job pretending like it doesn’t bother her. Jane is just straight-up confused. Why on earth is someone as amazing and gorgeous and brilliant here, lusting after this douche? And, secondly but possibly more importantly, why the fuck is it bothering Jane so much? What is this thing inside her ribs and why, every once in a while, does it scream for the taste of Maura’s lips or the feeling of her hand?

Confused and a roil, Jane decides not to seek Maura out, and instead spends hours and hours going over files and evidence and finding absolutely nothing useful. It’s infuriating and frustrating and only serves to bring her mind back to Maura again.

The day after, the other half of the girls go on a date, and Jane and Maura sneak away for a run.

“Are we allowed to be running out of the house?” Maura asks after about 15 minutes.

“Nope. But since I’m the one in charge of stopping you, I figured we could get away with it.” They grin at each other.

After five miles, they slow down to a walk, meandering along the streets, both singularly disinterested in heading back to the mansion. Jane’s mind wanders to the case and the internal politics of BPD, so she’s pretty shocked when Maura speaks.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

Her brain sputters. “Uh, what?”

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

“…Are you taking a survey?”

“No. I was just wondering. I overheard some of the girls yesterday, in the limo, discussing how they’d kissed other girls to get a guy’s attention, and I was wondering if you’d done it.”

“Gross, no.”

Maura stops walking, looking upset. “You think kissing a girl is gross?”

Jane pulls up, startled. “No, no, that’s not what I meant! If someone wants to kiss a girl, go ahead, I couldn’t care less. But kissing a girl just to get the attention of a guy – ugh. I think that’s super gross.”

Maura looks happier. “Oh, yes. I suppose so.”

They start walking again.

After a moment, Jane can’t stand it. “So, have you? Kissed a girl?”

Maura smiles. “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Nope.” A long pause. And then, it just happens. “Not yet.”

The blue shard jumps around her rib cage, dancing with delight.

 

* * *

 

The next night Brockton is on a date with just one girl (!). Everyone else is moping around the house, feeling sorry for themselves and talking shit about the girl he picked.

Maura, for reasons Jane simply cannot fathom, seems just as distraught as the rest of them. Of course, unlike the rest of them, she shows those feelings by snapping at every grammatical mistake the girls make and just generally getting on their nerves. Unable to escape to her room because she’s on the clock, Jane retreats to the small living room as soon as she can, planning to just wait it out until everyone goes to bed and she can relax.

Half a Sox game later, Maura comes and sits down next to her.

“So this is where you disappeared to.”

“Yeah. Things were a little intense out there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Maur, you know. Everyone was so upset about not being on the date.”

“Of course we were, Jane. We all wanted to be chosen, but weren’t. It’s natural to be upset and irritable when an event we desire doesn’t occur.”

“Yeah, but like, it’s just a date.”

“Jane, this is a zero sum game. If Kelly gets a date, that means I don’t. It’s a competition, and I do not enter competitions to lose.”

Jane holds her hands up. “Okay, let’s not blow this out of proportion. This isn’t gladiators or something. This is TV dating.”

Maura leans back, affronted. “Why are you being like this?”

Jane knows she’s crossing the line, but she can’t stop it. “Like what?”

“Cruel. Hostile and cruel.” It hurts so much that Jane, unable to process, just makes it worse.

“Because, Maura!” She’s practically shouting now, standing, pacing, and throwing her arms up. “Because this is ridiculous! You don’t even know him!”

Maura stands as well, her voice firm. “That’s how this works, Jane.”

“Well it’s stupid! And I didn’t take you for stupid, Maura, but if you’re buying into this BS then you’re a hell of a lot dumber than I thought.”

“Oh, how thoughtful. Thanks so much.” She crosses her arms, her tone holding a brand new note of bitterness.

Jane is snapped out of her frustration and just stands there, staring at Maura. Maura fidgets under her stare. “What?”

“I’ve just—never heard you use sarcasm before.”

“Oh.” Maura looks down, suddenly bashful. “Did I do it correctly?”

It’s so cute that despite herself, Jane grins and flops back on the couch. “Like a champ.”

Maura sits down primly next to her. She’s clearly waiting for an apology.

Jane doesn’t make her wait long. “Look, Maur, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I really didn’t. You’re not stupid, and I know that. But I just don’t…”

Patiently. “Don’t what, Jane?”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

A moment. “You know, when I don’t understand why someone is doing something, I find it easiest to ask them. Openly and directly.”

Jane’s not stupid either. “Maura, why are you here? Why are you doing this?”

Maura takes a deep breath. Jane has to give her credit – she answers as fully and completely as she can. “I have a genius-level IQ. I taught myself to read when I was two. When I was ten I left home for an elite boarding school in France. I skipped two grades and graduated when I was sixteen. From there I went to BCU for college and then to Stanford for medical school. I was the first in my class at all of them. I was offered all the most exclusive residencies, and I’m the most effective and efficient medical examiner ever to be attached to the Massachusetts hospital system. If I want to, I have no doubt I could be the Chief Medical Examiner of the Commonwealth by age thirty. I speak five languages fluently, I could teach graduate level courses in most sciences and mathematics, as well as literary theory. I’m well acquainted with modern art, classical opera, and experimental drama. I was the captain of my fencing and dressage teams.”

“Okay, Maura, I get it. My inferiority complex is adequately, firing, I promise. Can you stop with the resume?”

“No, Jane, that’s the point. My resume is perfect. There has never been anything that I’ve tried my hardest at and not been the best. I study the rules, I master them, and then I master the discipline. But I…”

She holds out a hand, hopelessly.

“But no matter how many books I’ve read, or studies I’ve examined, I simply cannot do this.”

Jane’s voice is soft, encouraging. “Do what?”

Maura looks up and the resignation in her eyes is absolutely heartbreaking. “People. I can’t, for the life of me, understand people.”

“Oh, Maura.” The icy blue shard freezes Jane’s entire torso, stealing into her heart and crawling up her spine.

“There are no rules. People are…intuition, and unpredictability, and I…I simply can’t master the science of people. And so I can’t find a mate and I can’t make friends or relate to my coworkers. The important men in my life haven’t loved me enough or believed in me or treated me like I matter. And they’ve left me. And I’ve never once had a real friend. And my parents…” She cuts herself off to keep from crying.

Jane nearly sobs. She reaches over and grabs Maura’s hand, squeezing it hard between both of hers. _You have me, you have me_.

“And then I got back from Africa, and I was completely lost. I had left Ian and I loved Ian, and I was starting a new chapter of my life and I was terrified and alone. And I was watching TV to fill up my house, and _the Bachelor_ was on. And I found it fascinating, ethnographically. I watched a few episodes, and it was…it was everything I’d been looking for.

“I watched every episode from every season ever aired. And you know what? Three seasons in, I was able to accurately predict the winner after the second or third episode. Every time. Because there are set rules for how to win. And the girl that follows those rules the best wins.”

“And you wanted to be that girl?”

“Yes, Jane, I want to be that girl. These rules, they unlock the science of people, distill it down into something I can excel at.”

She looks expectant, like Jane is supposed to be proud of her. It’s both the saddest and the dumbest thing Jane has ever heard. But she has to be gentle this time. “And, how is it going?”

Maura’s face falls. “Not…as well as I’d expected. I seem, for the first time, to be failing at a science. If this doesn’t work, I don’t…I don’t know what to do.”

She’s perilously close to tears. Jane extracts her hands from Maura’s and puts her arm around Maura’s shoulders, pulling her in. Maura gently rests her head on Jane’s shoulder, curling in and clicking perfectly into place.

“People aren’t a science, Maur. The show might have these rules, but they’re not rules for actual love. That’s not how love works. It might be how Brockton works, but…do you actually want to fall in love with him?”

“No, of course not.”

“Then why do you want him to fall in love with you?”

Maura is silent. After a moment, Jane continues. “Look, I clearly get the appeal of knowing that no matter what, no matter who, you can make a person fall in love with you. I really do. But him, he’s…”

She hesitates.

“Say it.”

The floodgates open. Her voice is soft but emphatic. “He’s…he’s stupid, Maura! He’s stupid and douchey and he doesn’t get why you’re amazing and why do you want someone like that? Some meathead who can barely string two sentences together? What do you have in common? What would you talk about? He’s not doing anything fulfilling or meaningful with his life, he’s not giving back to society or trying to make anything better for anyone. He’s just a pretty boy with a good haircut.”

Maura’s quiet for a long enough that Jane begins to panic that she’s gone too far again. But then, very softly, she speaks. “I don’t care what he’s like. I just want to know what it’s like to be wanted more than anything or anyone else.”

And Jane’s heart shatters and the shard claws deeper inside of her. All she can do is pull Maura in closer and cling to her.

Another few moments of quiet. Maura can hear Jane’s heart thumping through her chest.

“Jane?”

Clearing her throat. “Uh, yeah?”

“Why are you here? You hate the show, you hate Brockton, it seems like you hate everyone you work with.”

“That obvious, huh?”

Maura can hear the smile in her voice. “Just to me.”

This is thin ice – Jane obviously can’t tell her the real reason she’s here. But she so badly wants to be honest. “Um, this isn’t my usual thing. I was assigned.”

“What’s your usual thing?”

Dang. Think fast. “Um, cop…shows. Cop shows. I’m usually a PA on cop shows.”

“Is that, what did you say? Meaningful and fulfilling?”

Fuck. “Um, more than this.”

“Mmm.”

Double fuck. “Except—except for you.”

Maura picks her head up, looking at Jane in surprise.

“Meeting you, being friends with you…it’s meaningful. To me.” It’s awkward, it’s stupid sounding.

But then Maura smiles, a real deep smile, one that comes from her toes and brings with it ever fiber of happiness in her body. And suddenly it’s perfect. She gently lies back on Jane’s chest, bringing her arm up to tuck around Jane’s stomach.

“To me too, Jane. It’s meaningful to me too.”

 

* * *

 

After the rose ceremony, in which Maura gets a rose towards the end but isn’t in danger of being sent away, the girls turn in early. They were woken up at five am for an early photo shoot, and they’re completely exhausted.

Jane, however, has a treat in mind.

She tiptoes through the house, creaking open the door to Maura’s room as silently as she can, and padding over to Maura’s bed, smiling down at the sleeping doctor. Kneeling, she places her hand softly over Maura’s mouth and gently shakes her shoulder. Maura starts up in a panic.

“Shh, Maur, it’s okay. It’s just me. Be quiet, okay?”

Maura nods, and Jane removes her hand from her mouth, the feeling of lips seared into her palm.

“Everyone else is sleeping, but I thought maybe you’d want to sneak into the hot tub with me.”

Saying it out loud makes it sound kind of stupid, but Maura nods. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

“Okay. Put on your bathing suit and meet me outside. But have a robe on or something in case someone sees you.”

Maura nods. Jane squeezes her shoulder and slips out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Being the one in charge is awesome, sometimes. Jane pulls the cover off the hot tub and turns on the jets and tub lights. She takes off her clothes, placing them and the towels on a chair. She slides into the hot water with a groan of pleasure, closing her eyes and leaning back against the jets. It’s been a long week. She’s no closer to finding any leads for the threats, and the combination of her PA work and her detective work is running her ragged.

She’s so relaxed that she doesn’t hear Maura’s approach until the doctor speaks. “I brought some wine from the kitchen. And you look like you could use it.”

Jane cracks an eye and grins. “Gee, thanks, you look great too.”

But then Maura takes off her robe, and the meaning totally changes.

She’s in an itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny totally black string bikini. It’s much smaller than her other bathing suit, and it also seems to share some properties with a black hole, because it has completely sucked Jane’s eyes into it and she can’t for the life of her tear them away. Her hair is in a messy bun on top of her head, and Jane has never seen such a neck.

Maura drapes her robe over the chair, and then places the wine and two glasses next to Jane. Ignoring, or possibly not noticing, the look Jane is giving her body, she walks around to the stairs and climbs in, hissing at the heat as she immerses herself up to the neck.

It’s perfect.

After a few moments of quiet bliss, Maura looks over to see Jane peacefully resting with her eyes closed. She quietly slides over next to Jane and then, without warning, turns and straddles her.

Jane’s eyes open with a strangled cry, and for a moment all she can see are breasts, barely contained by black fabric, right in her face. Her hands, involuntarily, grab Maura’s hips. She blinks, rapidly.

It takes her a good few seconds to pull her eyes out of Maura’s cleavage, and then a few more to notice that Maura’s laughing at her.

She flushes red from her toes to the flaming tips of her ears.

Maura leans over, grabbing the wine and pouring two glasses. “Sorry for invading your space, but I didn’t want the wine to go to waste.” And then she winks. She motherfucking _winks_ and it’s the sexiest thing Jane has ever seen.

Jane can barely take the glass she’s handed. Her eyes have fallen back into the black hole.

“See something you like?” Maura asks dryly, raising an eyebrow.

It happens so quickly that Jane somehow tells the truth. “Yes.”

Maura takes it in stride. “Good. Cheers.” She clinks their glasses together and, without getting off Jane, or even breaking eye contact, takes a healthy sip.

 

* * *

  

Jane is lying in bed, teeming with emotion. She’s not confused anymore. No, what happened in the hot tub really cleared up any lingering confusion she might have about being attracted to Maura. The five minutes Maura spent on her lap were the five most erotic moments of her life, and they didn’t even kiss. Jane didn’t even get to touch any of that tiny pathetic beautiful excuse for clothing at all. Maura had just sat there, right on top of her, drinking wine and chatting. Totally casual.

No, Jane is not confused about Jane. Jane knows that Jane desperately, desperately, want to make out with, make love to, make smile, and generally see naked, one Maura Isles.

But Jane is confused about Maura. Clearly she’s flirting. But is she? She keeps going on about how bad she at these things. Maybe she honestly doesn’t know that friends don’t wink like that at friends. That friends don’t sit on top of one another in tiny bikinis and get lost in each others’ fucking incredible cleavage.

And then there’s Brockton. Maura’s here to make him fall in love with her. If he starts paying attention, and she flirts with him the way she’s flirting with Jane? Game over. Jane’s pretty sure there isn’t a human alive that could withstand the true force of nature that’s Sexy Maura.

_God damn_. Jane rubs her hands over her face. _This shit just got complicated_.


	6. Chapter 6

This shit is _really_ complicated. No, it’s not enough that someone is threatening these women. Add to that a ridiculous undercover assignment, and you’d think that would be enough drama. But no. Jane had to go and develop the hots, the very very very hot hots, for someone. For a _girl_ , no less. And not just any girl. A brilliant, oblivious, sexy-as-hell, total enigma of a girl. Whose entire sense of self-esteem is currently wrapped up in making someone else fall in love with her.

Yeah, complicated seems like the word.

Jane spends the next day stewing. Acknowledging her feeling for Maura didn’t make them easier to bear as she’d hoped. Instead, it seems to have made them worse. She can’t stop noticing how beautiful Maura’s eyes are, or how swishy her hair is. She can’t stop grinning when she thinks about the hot tub or the night they spent in her bed together. She can’t stop her lungs from contracting every time Maura says something brilliant in passing. She can’t stop her heart swooping through her body and her blood bubbling and twinkling into champagne every time Maura smiles at her.

She can’t stop the shard from twisting deep inside her gut whenever she sees disappointment flash across Maura’s mask. She can’t stop it from growing inside her and cracking her ribs every time she sees Maura notice Brockton noticing someone else.

After dinner, Jane is blissfully off-duty, and retreats to the shower, one of the only places she can actually be alone. As she shampoos her hair, she indulges herself for a few seconds in what it would be like to be with Maura – to spend nights and days with her, to shower with her, to kiss her whenever she wanted to. But the shard grows and twists and climbs through her, freezing her insides. Even with the water turned up all the way, her teeth begin to chatter.

Maura is so unhappy. So scared, so sad, so alone. All she wants is for Brockton to want her. And half of Jane is screaming BUT FUCK BROCKTON, I CAN GIVE YOU ANYTHING, but the other half, the icy half, knows that Maura can’t be happy until he wants her.

So, leaning her hand up on the wall and taking shuddering breath after shuddering breath, Jane resolves to help Maura get him.

And, about twenty minutes later, after she’s finally able to stop sobbing, Jane steps out of the shower, gets dressed, and goes to find Maura before she loses her nerve.

 

* * *

 

She finds her in their living room. She’s expecting Maura to be reading, but she’s surprised to see her with the remote in her hand, her head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed, intently studying _The Jersey Shore_.

Jane is much too raw for how adorable this is. She carefully wraps her heart up, puts it into her pocket for safekeeping, armors herself in sarcasm, and steps into the room.

“I didn’t really take you for a Snooki fan.”

Maura’s head whips around, blushing furiously, as she frantically presses assorted buttons on the remote, trying in vain to change the channel as quickly as possible. All she manages to do, however, is get the volume stuck on its highest setting.

Jane laughs, loudly, before crossing the room, grabbing the remote, and muting the volume.

“Nice job, Maur,” Jane says, plopping down next to a very flustered Dr. Isles. “Very sneaky, there.”

Maura smoothes her skirt in a ridiculous pretense of propriety and says nothing.

“It’s alright, Doctor. You don’t have to be a closeted _Jersey Shore_ fan. This is a safe space.” Jane’s shit-eating grin threatens to crack her face in half.

“I—it….ethnographic research.” Maura offers weakly.

Jane busts out laughing, genuinely smacking her own knees until Maura knocks her in the chest with a pillow.

“Shut up.” She says softly, her ears still a flaming red.

Jane just laughs harder. She absolutely deserves it when Maura pushes her shoulder, hard, toppling her over on her side.

But the harshness of the moment comes flooding back to her as she has to force herself not to grab Maura’s wrist, pulling the smaller woman over on top of her, and kissing her for hours.

She pushes herself back up, and Maura, still flushed and laughing, stills when she sees the serious look on her face.

“What’s wrong? Oh, Jane, did I hurt you?”

Jane holds up a hand. “No, Maur, I’m fine. I just…” Big breath. Big girl breath. “I came here to tell you that I can help you get Brockton.”

It’s dead silent for a moment. For long enough that a tiny balloon of hope floats through Jane. _Maybe she feels it too. Maybe she’s going to say she doesn’t care about Brockton. Maybe she’ll say she’s only staying here to be with me. Maybe she’ll kiss me and I just brushed my teeth so I don’t even have to worry and I bet she tastes like sunshine._

“You can?” The excitement in her eyes, the way she leans forward. With a cracking sound, the balloon pops and Jane’s heart, raw and vulnerable, rips a little.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can. Not here though. I can’t have any of the other girls see me helping you. If they report it, I could get fired.”

Maura nods. “Your room, then?”

 

* * *

 

God, it’s torture. Sitting on your own bed, in hand-holding distance of Maura Isles. Knowing how badly you want her. Smelling her hair and remembering what it feels like to have her curled next to you, her head on your chest, her hand in yours. Sitting there with her, and telling her how to make someone else fall in love with her. You held your mother as she collapsed to the ground, screaming for her baby boy that was being sent off to prison, but this might be harder.

“Okay, I’m ready. What do I do?” She looks so fucking eager. It shatters you. You keep going anyway.

“When you’re talking to him, what are you thinking about?”

“The rules. I analyze the situation, think about what rule applies the most to the situation, and do my best to implement that rule.”

“And what do you think about when you’re with me?”

Maura pulls up short. “I, um, I don’t know. I guess I don’t think that much; I just do what I feel like. Why are you asking me that?”

You sigh heavily but keep going. “Because what you do when you’re with me – uh, well, I just um…” You take a breath, steel yourself, and rush through it. “If you act around him like you act around me, he’ll be into you.”

Maura looks down at her hands. “I don’t—understand.”

“Maura.” She looks up, a bit surprised by the intensity in your eyes. “Just pretend he’s me. Do to him what you do to me. It’ll work. I promise.”

Maura nods. “Alright. I will.”

Your stomach twists and you know your insides will never feel warm again. The shard is the size of a kite, slicing through all of your softest parts.

 

* * *

 

The next morning Jane does her best to steer clear of Maura. She’s running around setting up breakfast, waking up women, and getting everyone fed and dressed for their group date, so it’s not terribly hard to do. Getting ten to fifteen young women anywhere on time, especially when they have to have camera-ready hair, makeup, and outfits, is no easy task, and today is worse than usual. It seems like hours before everyone is finally assembled in the foyer. The other PA lectures them on the rules for this date while Jane goes out to check the limo.

As she steps outside, she calls to the driver to start the car so the AC will be flowing by the time the women get in. If she has to hear one more time about humidity in the limos causing hair to wilt, she’ll grab her gun from her room and shoot somebody, she really will.

But after the driver gets in, Jane hears the sputtering sound of the engine turning over. Panic floods her. She sprints to the driver’s door, throws it open, and bodily tosses the man out of the car before he can try to start it again. She hauls him off the ground and pulls him back several meters, listening for any telltale signs of a bomb about to go off.

After a few moments of silence, Jane cautiously approaches the limo, signaling the driver to stay back. She does a quick inspection of the interior before crouching down and looking underneath the carriage.

And she sees it. A bomb.

At that exact moment, the other PA leads the girls out into the courtyard.

Thinking fast, Jane springs into action. “This limo is out of commission.” She calls in her most authoritative cop voice. “Everyone needs to head back into the house, actually into the backyard to wait for another vehicle.”

A hubbub erupts. The driver comes up, completely confused about why Jane won’t let him try to restart the car. The other PA is trying to get the girls into the other limo, but Jane keeps yelling over him, telling the girls to go to the backyard. One of the girls is complaining about the heat in the backyard, and since Jane can’t tell her that the backyard is the spot on the property furthest away from the _fucking_ _bomb_ , she just glares until everyone does what she says.

Finally, after what feels like hours, Jane is alone in the courtyard. She quickly pulls out her phone and calls her captain, ordering a fleet of police cars to take the girls off the property and an armed escort. Her captain deploys the bomb squad, and, while she waits for them, Jane tells the girls that the surprise twist of their date is for them to arrive in police cars, doing her best to make it sound both fun and planned.

Everyone but Maura buys it.

Jane runs back to the courtyard, lies on her back, and wriggles underneath the limo to get a better look at the bomb. Without touching it, she does her best to trace the wiring and measure the potential impact of the explosive mounted to the underside of the car.

Maura’s voice surprises her so much that she nearly grabs the red wire.

“What are you doing?”

Jane swears several times before pulling herself out from under the car. Maura extends her hand to help Jane up. The contact sends another trickle of adrenaline through Jane’s system.

“Uh, just checking out the car.” But then panic. “Maur, you need to get to the backyard. Now.”

“I know a great deal about cars. Please, let me take a look.”

She heads over the hood, but Jane throws out an arm to stop her. “Thanks, but we’ve got it covered.”

“Jane, you haven’t even popped the hood. Really, I can be of service here.”

“Maura. I really need you to go back to the backyard. Right now.”

Maura doesn’t miss the seriousness of Jane’s expression or the concern in her eyes.

She takes a moment, then nods softly. “Alright.” A beat, then she extends her hand again. “Come with me?”

Jane can’t resist. Just in case she gets blown up, she’ll give herself this. She reaches out and squeezes Maura’s hand, hard, before dropping it and gently pushing away. “I can’t. But please, go.”

Eyebrows knit in confusion, Maura does as she’s told.

 

* * *

 

Finally, the girls are carted away by their police escort. Several of them swoon over the officers, and Jane does some impressive contortions to make sure none of the officers see her and blow her cover. Finally it’s just her and the bomb squad.

They disarm the bomb pretty quickly, and the captain of the unit explains to Jane that it was terribly made.

“Couldna done mah than pop the cah off the ground a few inches, probably naht even a whole foot. Whoevah made this didna have any idea what he was doin’.”

“What can you tell me about what it’s made out of?”

“I dunnah yet. Looks like basic c-fah, but I’ll take it to ya lab and have them call ya as soon as they know somethin’, ahright Detective?”

“Thanks, Captain.”

Then hot, sweaty, full of adrenaline and unanswered questions, Jane hustles back into the house. She changes her clothes in record time, straps her gun into her ankle holster for the first time this assignment, and heads out to protect Maura.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Jane sees when she arrives at the botanical garden is Maura and Brockton off in a corner together. Brockton is all over her, and the cameras are all over the both of them. Jane considers throwing up in a bush.

Her advice has clearly worked. Maura is smiling, Brockton is laughing, and he has his arm around her. He’s staring deeply into her cleavage, but every once in a while his eyes flick up to her face, which is probably as good as can be expected.

They talk for a long time. It’s probably ten minutes, but it feels like fifty hours. At one point Maura winks at him and Jane nearly cries.

At the end, he goes in for the kiss. Jane watches in slow motion as he leans in and, at the very last second, Maura turns away, offering her cheek to him. Jane sees the predatory look in his eyes. She strongly reconsiders her decision not to heave into the prized begonias next to her.

The other girls start talking about her as real competition.

Jane does a lot of busywork that involves never being close enough to Maura to smell her hair.

At the rose ceremony that night, Maura gets the second rose. She’s elated.

There is a tiny monster inside of Jane that’s crying and punching things and throwing up. But the rest of Jane just cleans up from the ceremony and goes to her room, closing the door to keep Maura out.

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, and Jane’s never been more frustrated with police work. She’s on the phone with Barry Frost, a computer tech looking for a promotion to detective work. He’s telling her about the c-4 used in the bomb.

“I don’t know, Jane. The lab results say it’s crappy c-4, but in a huge amount. It should have been more than capable of blowing up the car, the house, even blowing the water out of the pool.”

“Then why did the bomb techs say it couldn’t have even flipped the limo?”

“Because it was wired wrong. They were trying to wire it into the engine, so when it started the bomb would go off. But all they managed to do was kill the engine. I’m not sure it would have ever gone off.”

“What the fuck? Who would go to all the trouble of sneaking onto the property, without leaving a trace, by the way, and duct-taping enough c-4 to level the entire property onto a car, and then wire it wrong? This doesn’t make any sense.”

“I agree with you, Jane. It’s fishy, but it’s all we’ve got so far.”

Before she can respond, Maura simultaneously knocks and opens the door. “Jane, are you—Oh! Sorry!” Seeing the phone in Jane’s hand, she goes to back out of the room.

“Wait, Maur, it’s okay. Barry, call me back when you have something, okay?”

“What? You got a man coming to your room this late at night, Jane?”

“Shut up, Barry. Just call me later, okay?”

“Sure thing. Night, Jane.”

“Bye, turd.” She tosses the phone onto the bed. “Hey, Maur, sorry about that. What’s up?” She shoves her hands into her pockets to keep them from reaching out to Maura.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. That was just Barry.”  
  
“Who?” Politely inquisitive.

“Oh, just, uh, someone that I used to work with.” Damn, this undercover thing is hard.

“I see. Well, I wanted to thank you for your advice. I did what you told me, and I think it worked.” She doesn’t look happy though.

Jane’s legs give out a little, so she sits on the edge of the bed and hopes it looks casual. “Oh, good. I’m…glad.” Liar of the century. She hopes her nose isn’t visibly growing.

Maura sits down cautiously on the bed next to Jane. She’s fiddling with her hands again, like she did before she felt comfortable reaching over and taking Jane’s when she’s nervous. “Yes, you were very helpful.”

She’s so confused, so lost, so upset. Another jagged tear rips through Jane’s heart. Softly, she asks. “What’s wrong?”

Softly, she answers. “I did what you said, and it worked. But it didn’t feel…right. It didn’t feel the same as when I did it with you.”

Every cell in Jane’s body holds its breath.

Maura looks up at Jane through her lashes, her eyes heavy with sadness and unasked questions.

Jane can’t answer them, so she just scoots closer and takes Maura into her arms. She wraps an arm around Maura’s back and snakes a hand up into her hair. Maura drops her head onto Jane’s shoulder as her whole body trembles.

“Why can’t I do anything right?”

Jane just wraps her fingers around Maura’s silky hair and croons to her softly.

Maura’s body finally stills, and Jane gently lifts her up and carries her to her own room. She softly lays her in her own bed, pulling the covers up around her. She leans down and kisses her forehead softly.

As she pulls away, Maura reaches up a hand and softly touches her cheek.

Before she cries, Jane hurries out of the room, feeling heavier than ever.


	7. Chapter 7

You’ve never been somebody who is strongly affected by other people’s emotions. You understand their feelings and how they motivate them to do whatever it is that they’re doing, but they don’t get to you, personally. You don’t feel them in your own heart. Its what makes you a great cop. They call it detachment and pat you on the back for it.

But you’re worried you’re going to drown under the heaviness of her sorrow. For the next few days, the sadness in her eyes scorches you, suffocating you. You feel like you’ve been wrapped in a down comforter and thrown into the ocean. You can’t move freely, can’t take a deep breath, can’t save yourself. Can’t save her.

She wants him. You want her. He wants everyone, including, but not limited to her.

And, the worst part is, you’re pretty sure she might want you too. The quiet nights in your room. How she cried into your shoulder. How she seeks you out. How open she is with you. How her unthinking way of being with you is, apparently, flirty enough to give you a coronary. And, good lord, what the hell was with that hot tub thing? Because if she’s not into you, then you don’t want to see what she’d be like in a hot tub when she’s actively trying to seduce someone. You’re pretty sure humanity wouldn’t survive the experience.

You try not to get your hopes up. Even if she is into you, she’s also into him. Or at least into the idea of him, and she’s made that perfectly clear. He’s her priority.

You’re not enough for her.

 

* * *

  

Jane does a spectacular job avoiding Maura for the next few days, partially because of the production schedule, partially because she keeps trading her shifts around with the explicit purpose of avoiding Maura, and partially because she spends an entire “personal day” at BPD going over evidence from the bomb with Barry Frost.

The bomb is a dead-end. No evidence, no leads, and the c-4 has proved be untraceable. This is turning into the most frustrating case of her career, and Jane isn’t taking it that well. All she wants to wrap up the case, move out of the house, and do her best to forget a show called _The Bachelor_ even exists until Maura is eliminated. Jane spends quite a bit of time daydreaming what it will be like when that happens, but decides that until then she’s going to do her best to be 100% platonic with Maura. No more hot tub, no more late-night crying or heartfelt confessions. She needs to focus on the case, and, also, she needs to try really heard to not focus on the idea of Maura getting steamy with Brockton. Because that might just kill her.

 

* * *

 

_Maura, recently eliminated, returns to her house in Beacon Hill sad, but somehow, not as sad as she was expecting. Her first night back, she orders Chinese delivery. The doorbell rings. She grabs her wallet, opens the door, and it’s Jane, standing there holding her lo mein. Maura carefully takes the food from Jane, places it on the side table, drops her wallet to the ground and leaps up into Jane’s arms, kissing her until they explode. And then sex. Everywhere._

_Maura’s driving, some kind of super sexy rich muscle car, and she gets pulled over for speeding. She’s talking to the officer until an unmarked pulls up. A hot detective unfolds herself from it and swaggers over, dismissing the officer. She leans down, rests her elbows on the window, and drawls, “Hey little lady.” Maura gapes, checks out the badge, and then throws herself out of the car and onto Jane. They makeout, and then sex in the car._

_Jane is watching the Red Sox game at home in her underwear. A knock on the door. It’s Maura. She’s found out everything and, bonus, she’s brought her entire sex toy collection that she won’t even be mad that Jane doesn’t know how to use yet. Sex._

_They run into each other in the grocery store. Sex._

_They meet up in some sort of running gathering. Sweaty spandex sex._

_Also, maybe they just get married and have babies and are really in love, okay._

 

* * *

  

Her resolve lasts until about 4pm the next day, when Maura corners her and invites herself along for a run. As Jane’s already in her running clothes, she can’t really back out, so she just sighs and hopes that Maura decides to wear a really unattractive running outfit.

She doesn’t. She’s wearing tiny black shorts, thankfully not too tight, but they could certainly stand to be looser, and a super tight oh my god blue tank top. She’s pulling her hair into a ponytail as she walks down the stairs toward Jane, and the sliver of stomach Jane can see brings back memories of the hot tub black-hole-of-majestic-cleavage incident, and she flushes like a sixth-grader at her first dance.

And then, for the love of god, Maura blatantly checks her out, clearly running her eyes over Jane’s (admittedly very short) shorts and (rather tight) t-shirt. To keep herself from ripping off her own clothes and laying down her body as an offering to the goddess, Jane chants to herself: _she’s checking out my clothes not my body, she’s checking out my clothes not my body, clothes clothes clothes_.

Maura reaches her, and, finding Jane’s eyes a bit glazed over, she touches her arm. “Are you ready, Jane?”

At her touch, Jane panic yells. “They’re from Target!”

Maura quirks an eyebrow. Jane stumbles through an “I mean, right on target. Right-o. Let’s do this run thing” in the most awkward way possible, and then literally runs away from her problem.

Unfortunately, her problem is just as fast as she is.

But Maura, blissfully, says nothing as she catches up. She just silently matches Jane’s stride and settles into herself as they take their usual route around the neighborhood.

 

* * *

 

About three miles in, and Jane is finally relaxing. The exertion of running is taking just enough of the edge off her drowning/scorching feelings and calming the buzz in her veins from Maura’s presence. _Maybe I should just run in place every time I’m with her._ Outside, in the sunshine, Jane finally starts to feel like herself again. Not like a person who is desperately crushing on someone totally unavailable. Not like someone undercover who can’t talk to anyone she loves about this crush. Not like a maybe lesbian with lots of confusing feelings. She’s able to shake off Jane the PA and Jane the detective and just be.

As they round a corner, she looks over at Maura, and grins. Maura meets her eyes, and flashes a real smile back. Jane reaches out for her hand to squeeze it, just once, as a silent apology for being so weird.

But before she reaches it, two shots ring out, shattering the quiet afternoon.

Jane acts on instinct, grabbing Maura around the waist and tumbling them down to the grass off to her left, careful to make sure her body is the one to hit the ground. She rolls them, quickly, pinning Maura underneath her. Maura’s face is pale, frightened. She’s holding onto Jane, one hand on her hip and the other gripping her neck.

“Stay down.” Jane orders, pulling herself up.

But Maura holds her firmly down, refusing to give an inch. “What are you doing? You stay down too!” Her eyes are equal parts terrified and determined.

“Maura, let me go!” Jane wiggles out from Maura’s grasp and, crouching, runs to behind the nearest car. Cursing herself for leaving her gun at home, she peeks around the car to see a deserted street. She notices fresh skid marks on the road, and the sight of them makes her realize that, as she was protecting Maura, she heard tires squealing and men shouting.

She runs out into the street, ignoring Maura’s strangled cry of protest from behind her, but the shooters are long gone.

“God fucking damn it!” She kicks the street, furious, before trotting back over to Maura, who is still sitting on the ground in shock. Jane kneels down next to her and rubs Maura’s arms softly. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Maura makes an effort to meet her eyes. “N-no. No, I’m not hurt.”

Before they can say anymore, two cars pull up, and a man hurriedly pours out of one of them, holding a gun out in front of him and pointing it all around with precise movements. “Shots fired! Anybody hit?”

Jane stands, turning to face him, unfazed by his gun. “No, nobody injured. Two shots.”

A second man has slid out of the other car, and is ambling towards them. “Well, hot damn, if it isn’t Detective Rizzoli. What the hell are you doing out here, so far from home? And dressed like that, to boot.”

Jane’s face drains white, and the other man hisses, “Crowe!” but he keeps going. “Is that the new uniform for narco detectives, Rizzoli, cause, I gotta say, I’m not looking forward to seeing Cavanaugh in those little shorts! But you would certainly brighten up headquarters like that, yes indeed.”

The other man advances on him, getting into his face and forcing him back to his car. “Shut the fuck up, Crowe, and get your drag ass back to the station and get me some motherfucking crime techs.”

Crowe does as he’s told, but not before looking at something behind Jane, smirking, and licking his lips at it.

“Watch your fucking face, Crowe.” Jane snarls it at him, but he just smiles and ducks into the car.

“Jane?” The voice behind her is soft, hesitant. Jane closes her eyes for a second, gathers herself, and turns to face the music.

“You’re a detective?” Maura seems less mad than Jane had anticipated. More curious, with an odd note of hopefulness in her eyes.

“I—yes. Look, I swear, I’ll explain everything in like two minutes, okay? I just really need to talk to Barry, alright?”

Maura nods, softly, but grabs Jane’s arm to keep her from walking away. “I’m going to have to examine your back later, Jane. You hit the ground pretty hard.”

Images of herself, shirtless, and Maura’s hands running all over her. “Um, yeah, good idea.” Maura drops her hand, and Jane turns to the man, waiting by his car.

“And Jane?” She turns back. “Thank you for protecting me.”

They just almost died, so Jane doesn’t swallow back her response. “Always.”

Maura’s smile is blinding.

 

* * *

 

Jane walks over to Frost, who is cordoning off the area with crime scene tape. Jane helps as she talks him through what little she saw and heard. They check the area for bullets, and find both rounds embedded about ten feet up a tree trunk that was a few feet behind where Jane and Maura were at the time.

They stand underneath it, staring up at the bullet holes. “Huh,” Jane says. “He’s a bad shot.”

“That’s not conclusively true.”

Jane and Frost both whip around to the sound of the definitive voice behind them. Barry takes in the small gorgeous creature in front of them before turning to Jane for an explanation.

“Uh, Maura, this is Barry, he works with me. He’s trying to earn his badge. Barry, this is Maura. She’s one of the ladies on the show.”

Undaunted by Jane’s cursory introduction, Maura merely sticks out her hand to him. “Doctor Maura Isles, forensic pathologist with Mass General.”

Frost shakes it enthusiastically. “Officer Frost, BPD forensic computing division. And I prefer to go by Frost, which Jane knows and simply chooses to ignore.”

Jane rolls her eyes. “I told you, Barry. I’ll call you Frost when you make your shield. Until then, you get to choose between Barry and turd.”

Frost rolls his own eyes, turning his back on her and refocusing on Maura. “Hey, are you that new pathologist everyone is talking about? The one with the new way to determine cause of death in burn victims?”

Maura’s cheeks flush and she ducks her head a bit. “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

“Damn! That’s awesome.” He seems like he’s about to ask why such a successful pathologist took a leave of absence from her job to be on _The Bachelor_ , so Jane interrupts him.

“Okay, but, Maur, what do you mean this isn’t a bad shot? It’s 10 feet in the air! We were nowhere near here!”

“You’re assuming he was aiming for us.”

“Uh, what else would he be aiming for?”

“Well, I clearly cannot answer that question, Jane, but I will say that if he were in a car, which I believe is what I heard you tell Officer Frost, it would be very unlikely that he could have hit this tree while aiming for us.”

“What do you mean, Doctor?” Jane wants to laugh at Frost for calling her doctor, until she realizes that maybe its disrespectful that she never has. At a loss for words, Jane merely follows the two of them to the middle of the street.

Maura makes quick work of analyzing the tire tracks burned into the pavement (“well, I can’t say conclusively, of course, but it looks to me to be a late 1990s model Cadillac”) and then squats slightly, putting herself in a high chair pose. Jane does her best not to be distracted.

“Taking into account the average height of a seat in a sedan such as late 1990s Cadillac, as well as the average height of a male person, I can roughly estimate that the gun would have, most naturally, been held at this height to hit us with the bullets.” She points her fingers like a child playing cops and robbers. “However, to hit a target that high up, at this close range, I would have to angle the gun quite steeply.” She raises her fingers significantly. “It is statistically improbable for an inexperienced shot to hit two targets as close together as the marks we see in the tree, so I feel comfortable exploring a scenario in which the shooter is relatively practiced, unaffected by common issues such as recoil and even the movement of the vehicle. Thus, due to the steep angle required to hit the tree at ten feet, four inches, as he did, the shooter was, most likely, not aiming at Jane and myself. He could not have hoped to hit us with the gun angled this way.”

Maura drops her “gun” and stands up straight, turning to look at Jane and Frost, who are desperately trying to pick their jaws up off the ground. Frost recovers first, and jumps in to ask her a bunch of clarifying questions about angles and types of guns and barrel lengths.

Jane takes longer to recover. She’s never been so enamored of anyone. She’d thought she had it bad for Maura the lonely genius, for Maura the sexy outcast, for Maura the socially inept flirt. But this? This Maura the badass boss of the crime scene?

Jane was completely unprepared for how hot and how awe inspiring and, somehow, still how goofy and adorable this new Maura is.

 

* * *

  

After the crime scene techs come and Jane and Maura give their official statements, they’re released. They start to walk slowly back to the house, and, after a few quiet moments, Maura breaks the silence.

“So. You’re a detective.”

“Yeah. I, uh. Yeah.” Jane clears her throat, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. To her immense surprise, Maura reaches over and takes her hand.

“I’m not mad at you, Jane. I just want to understand.”

Jane looks down at their linked hands in complete shock. “I thought you’d hate me!” The words pour out of her. “You’ve confessed all these things to me, and told me all these secrets about yourself, and I like, forced my friendship on you, and I haven’t even told you my real name!”

“Were you investigating me?”

“No. No, Maura, I promise.”

“Did you lie to me about anything important? How you felt about things or,” she falters for a moment. “Or how you felt about me?”

“No! No. Just about my job, that’s it. Oh, and my last name. But really, that’s it. Everything else, all the time that we’ve spent together, it’s all been real. I promise.”

Maura squeezes her hand, and Jane realizes she’s been gripping it incredibly tightly. She slackens her grip a bit, but Maura squeezes back harder.

“Then how could I be mad, Jane? You were doing your job.”

It seems too simple, but Jane’s too pleased to care.

“I would like to know why, though.”

“Oh, yeah! Of course.” And, swinging their hands between them, they slowly walk the rest of the way back as Jane finally tells Maura everything.

 

* * *

 

It’s later that night and you’ve just finished getting ready for bed. You’re pulling back the covers as you hear the door to your room creak open, soft footsteps enter, and then the sound of the door being quietly, but firmly, shut.

“Jane.” Her voice has never sounded like this. Low, wet, heavy. You turn around slowly, feeling like the air is suddenly made of molasses.

Maura is standing near the door with a look of determination on her face. As her eyes rake over you, something predatory shines out of them.

You take a step toward her.

“Jane.” A little more desperate, with a hint of warning.

You take another step.

It’s a small room. Only one step left.

You take it.

“Jane.” It’s a sigh, this time, as your body invades her personal space. She’s a magnet, she’s your magnet, and you can’t even think about resisting her pull in this heavy darkness.

She puts her hands up on your chest, where your lapels would be if you wore a suit to bed, and manages to both pull you in closer and keep you away from her at the same time.

“Jane.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from far away. Like she has forgotten how to speak and has to pull each sound from the recesses of her mind. “Jane, I’m so glad you’re a detective.”

Somehow your hands have floated to her hips. “Why?”

She shudders at the sound of your voice. “Because I have been so…attracted to you. I have—wanted you. So badly. But I couldn’t understand why you would do this work you hate. Why someone I found so brilliant and compelling and driven…” She seems to get lost for a moment, distracted by how intensely she’s staring at your lips. But after a moment she finds herself again. “Your job didn’t fit with the rest of you. And until I made sense of that, I couldn’t let myself move forward. But this, Jane? This.” Tantalizingly breathy. “It changes everything.”  
  
And you don’t need her to say that it changes everything for the better. Because you’re drowning in each other’s lips and you haven’t kissed yet. Because you can finally take a breath.

But you have to ask. “Move…forward?”

“Yes, Jane.” She breathes. “Forward.” And she slips her hands around your neck for the second time today and she pulls you down to her again. But this time you don’t resist. You sink into it and you let her kiss you.

At the touch of her lips, the icy blue shard inside of you turns to honey and melts your insides. And the air is molasses and language is forgotten and all there has ever been is her. And after some amount of time, she reaches over, snaps off the light, and walks you backwards to your bed. And you simply pray that your heart won’t explode until after it’s over.


	8. Chapter 8

Jane rolls over and can’t quite figure out why she’s surprised to be alone in bed. She’s always alone in bed. But the sheets feel strange against her, and as she looks down and notices she’s topless, everything comes flooding back.

Yesterday, Maura had found out she was a detective.

And last night, Maura had…what was the word for it? She didn’t proposition Jane, exactly, or seduce her. She had just walked into Jane’s room, oozing sex, and Jane had nearly lost herself in Maura’s spell. They’d kissed, they’d done things that resulted in Jane’s bra and pajama top’s current undignified positions in the corner of the room, and they’d fallen asleep together.

Jane wishes heartily that Maura were still in bed with her, not only for round two but just so she could be completely sure it really happened. And that it might happen again. But checking her phone, Jane realizes it’s already 8am and she’s nearly late for her shift. She throws on her shirt and runs into the bathroom down the hall to shower (trying to convince herself its necessary even though it means washing the smell of Maura off her body), grinning as she plays last night on a repeat loop she knows she’ll never get sick of.

 

* * *

 

_Kissing Maura is like nothing you’ve ever imagined. It’s impossible, it’s incredible, it’s completely surreal. You can’t stop thinking about how good it feels but at the same time you’re completely incapable of thought. Her cheeks and her neck are so soft under your thumbs and you pull back and gently kiss the tip of her nose and she wrinkles it at you and you feel so safe. She’s so small and narrow in your arms and so strong and soft and feminine and everything at one. And she’s also frighteningly good at this. You’d be worried about your own skill except for the fact that she’s making it pretty clear she likes what’s happening._

_She walks you backwards and your legs hit the bed and then somehow you’re on your back with her hovering over you. She hasn’t stopped kissing you for a second and you hope that sentence is true for the rest of your life. She whispers your name against your lips, just a breath of a word, and you feel tears prick your eyes, just for a second._

_She gently lowers her body flush onto yours and the entire world slips away._

 

* * *

The second Jane hits the bottom of the stairs to begin her shift she realizes Brockton is in the house. There are a ton of cameramen and all the girls are much perkier than they usually are in the mornings. Jane instantly knows that this means she won’t get to abscond with Maura for a while like she’d hoped. _Damn_.

Jane realizes that she has no idea how Maura plans to deal with this new development: if she’ll ask to leave the show or just stop expressing interest in Brockton and let him eliminate her in a few weeks so she can stay with Jane longer. Hoping she finds Maura so she can ask her quickly, Jane avoids the producers and pokes her head into each room, ostensibly looking for Brockton but definitely looking for Maura.

She finds them together.

Jane finds them together and her blood turns to ice water and the shard that had completely melted inside her starts to crystallize.

Jane finds them together and he is standing behind her and he has his hands on her hips.

Jane finds them together and she’s looking coyly over her shoulder at him and she’s laughing.

Jane finds them together and she’s flirting with him and six hours ago she was saying Jane’s name like a prayer.

Jane finds them together and her heart shatters.

 

* * *

_For your thirteenth birthday your pop gave you a blue suede jacket and you loved it like nothing else in the world. You loved everything about it – how it fit, how it looked, how you felt in it. But mostly you loved how it felt under your fingertips. You’d spend hours lost in daydreams, gently running your fingers up and down your arms or across your chest. It was impossibly smooth and soft and warm and you couldn’t get enough of it. The day you grew out of it was one of the saddest days of your life, and over the years you’ve found yourself missing it more than you’d care to admit._

_But now you don’t have to miss it anymore. You’ve finally found something better. Something even softer and smoother and much warmer to run your fingers over until you die. Still on top of you, Maura sits up to pull her own shirt off, and your hands are drawn to her ribcage like magnets. And the second your fingers hit her skin, you forget all about that jacket. You forget about everything you’ve ever liked, because nothing even comes close._

_And when she pulls your shirt off and your torsos come together you’re surprised you don’t faint._

_And you’re pretty sure her breasts really are a black hole because you are never ever emerging from them. Not for a second. Unless it’s to kiss her, in which case, hell yes, but better keep a hand on them just in case they get any ideas._

_And it’s silent in the room except for your breathing and every once in a while when she whispers your name._

 

* * *

Jane gathers up the rubble of her heart, straightens her shoulders, and, with her best authoritative cop walk, marches into the room. She heads straight to Maura and Brockton, doing her best not to notice his hands creeping closer to her ass but knowing the image is burned into her brain for all time.

“Maura, I need to see you for a minute.” Her voice is harsh, but she’s just lucky she’s not ugly crying.

Maura is taken aback. “Jane, I’m a bit busy…” She gestures to Brockton, like Jane is supposed to understand that he comes first.

Jane grits her teeth. “Now, Maura.” Her eyes narrow, and, not having any idea what’s happening here but clearly feeling a dangerous vibe, Brockton slowly removes his hands from Maura’s body.

Maura takes a sharp breath in. “Fine.” The word is short, clipped. Brusque.

Jane hardens her heart and leads the way to their living room, careful not to let an inch of her skin brush Maura’s.

The second they’re alone behind the closed doors of the living room, Maura whirls around, her eyes flashing dangerously. “What the hell was that, Jane?”

Jane’s jaw hits the floor. “What was that? Are you kidding? Do you have amnesia? What the hell was _that_ , Maura?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why the fuck were you flirting with him like that?”

Maura explodes. “Because you told me to!”

Jane explodes. “THAT WAS BEFORE.”

“BEFORE WHAT?”

“BEFORE, GOD—Are you fucking serious right now??” Jane stutters for a moment, and then breaks. She takes a beat, then, quietly, to the floor, “Are you serious? Did it mean so little to you?”

Maura softens, just a bit. “No, Jane. I – no. It meant a lot, it did.”

Jane looks up at her. “Then why? Out there, with him, why?”

“Jane, it, it meant a lot, but it doesn’t change anything.”

Fury rises up in Jane, raising her body temperature and scrambling her brains. “How the hell does that not change anything?”

Maura blinks rapidly, trying her best to keep up with Jane’s rapidly shifting mood. Finally she says, softly but firmly, “I’m here to win Brockton, Jane. I’ve been very clear about that.”

Jane looks at her like she’s speaking Klingon. “I – still?”

“Yes. Still.”

Anger and devastation and self-loathing. “Then what the fuck was last night about, Maura? If you’re here with him, why the hell did you come to me last night?” _Come to me, come for me, come with me._ She hates that she can hear the tremble in her voice.

“Last night was about us, Jane. Not about him.”

The tiny pieces of her heart turn bitter. “Is that what you’ll tell yourself when you’re fucking him?”

Maura pales with fury. “How dare you.”

Jane plows on. “So when you’re taking your turn to fuck him, what will you tell yourself then? That it’s fine cause you’ve both fucked other people in this house?” She can’t control her words because one hundred percent of her willpower is going to not crying.

Maura slaps her across the face, hard. “Fuck you, Jane.”

Jane looks her dead in the eye. “No Maura, I think you’re the only one who’s going to be fucked from now on.” She turns on her heel and stalks out, leaving Maura standing quite alone.

 

* * *

_There are moments when it’s awkward. When you both have no idea what you’re doing, and she elbows you in the neck or you accidentally squash one of her truly delightful breasts between your bodies. And you wince and she does this cute doctor face where she assesses the damage and then you both laugh and hold onto each other._

_It shouldn’t still be sexy but it is, and you’re trying not to think about romance but this is perfect._

_And then she kisses you again and you do this thing that she really seems to like, and she moans softly against your lips. It takes a moment for you to realize what she’s said. “Detective.”_

_You roll her onto her back and look down at her. “Badge bunny.” You say, raising a cocky eyebrow at her._

_She takes a beat and you realize she doesn’t know what that is. She gamely launches into a lesson on the etymology of the terms, trying vainly to connect them and make it sound like she knows what she’s talking about._

_You laugh and gather her up into you. She’s belligerent at being interrupted. She’s fucking adorable and also topless._

_“Maura. Lecture later. Right now, shut up and kiss me.”_

_Instead, turns out she’s kind of a biter._

 

* * *

The next few days are pure agony. Jane refuses to speak to Maura, going so far as to leave whatever room Maura enters if the job allows it. Maura tries knocking on her bedroom door, but finds it locked against her. She stakes out the big TV when the Red Sox are on and Jane doesn’t even show. She writes her a note and Jane tears it in half and hands it back to her without even a second of eye contact. She invites Jane out for a run and is brusquely told that no one is allowed to leave the premises for any reason. Jane goes so far as to hand her a copy of the contract she signed, pointing her to subsection 6b.

The only time Maura can get Jane to speak to her is when a producer is near. Jane is still trying to keep up her cover as a PA, so she has to do a good job in front of her bosses. After two full days of being shut out, it’s a situation Maura mercilessly exploits.

At first, she just delights in hearing Jane’s voice as she answers some inane question about what time dinner is or what the shooting schedule is. Then she progresses to asking Jane for help moving a couch or settling a dispute. On the third day, frustrated as hell, Maura marches up to Jane, pulls her shirt up to her ribs, and sweetly asks Jane to fix her microphone pack and re-tape the wire that snakes around her hip, up her stomach, and disappears under her bra to emerge, triumphant, in her cleavage.

She feels Jane’s eyes burning holes in her until, after what was probably much too long, Jane grabs her arm and pulls her away from the group.

Jane is silent as she hauls Maura up the stairs. Maura doesn’t even realize where they’re going until Jane closes the bedroom door behind herself and spins Maura around to face her.

Maura is pretty sure this is the part where they have angry makeup sex, but she’s wrong.

“No.” Jane’s voice is soft but firm, and sounds a little strangled.

“Pardon?” Maura tries to play it polite to cover her disappointment that they aren’t having makeup sex and her distraction at seeing this bed again.

“No. You don’t get to do this to me, Maura. You don’t get to fuck me and then reject me and then take off your shirt and beg me to touch you in front of twenty people. No. You don’t get to do that.”

Choosing to ignore, for the moment, how offended she is that Jane called what they’d shared “fucking,” Maura simply asks, “Then what do I get to do?”

“To me? Nothing. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“No, Jane. That’s not what I want. I want…everything.” Maura tries to walk towards her, but Jane holds out a hand to stop her.

“You can’t have everything. You have to choose.”

“Why?”

“Because, Maura. That’s how this works. You choose me or you choose him. You don’t get both of us.”

“Please, Jane. Please, don’t ask me to do this.” Jane can see the tears welling up in Maura’s eyes but she can’t let herself feel them.

“You have to.”

Maura grinds her hands together and one tear spills over. She looks down at the floor and whispers. “I choose him.”

Before she can cry, Jane turns away from Maura and wrenches the door open. “Then get out.” Her voice isn’t anywhere near steady but it’s all she can do. Just hold on until she leaves, just wait until she’s out.

“Jane.” She looks up, desperate, but all she sees is a pale mask.

“Get out.”

Maura nods, softly, and walks slowly past Jane and through the doorway.

The sound of sob freezes her feet. A hand reaches out and grabs her wrist, pulling her back inside.

“God, fuck, NO.” Jane slams the door shut and leans with one hand up against it, keeping Maura inside. “No.” Jane is crying now; the tears are running down her cheeks and Maura feels her own start to fall freely.

“What are you doing?” Not accusatory, just curious.

“No. God fucking damn it, Maura, I’m not letting you pick him. I’m not…I’m not just going to roll over and let you walk away from me. Fuck, Maura, I…look, okay, look.” Jane furiously wipes her face with the backs of her hands and Maura’s heart contracts with pain. “You said that guy in Africa didn’t fight for you, and he didn’t care when you left. I’m not – no, Maura. No. I’m fighting for you. I’ll fight him for you, I’ll, fuck, I’ll go ten paces and draw, I don’t know. I don’t care. Maura, no. Please. You can’t pick him. You can’t. He’s awful and I can give you anything, Maura, I’ll give you anything.”

They both stand there for a moment, shocked at how raw Jane’s words are. They look at each other, both crying heavily, and Jane has never felt so vulnerable. Maura has never been the object of such fierce desire. She has never felt so loved in all her life.

Maura’s breath hitches and she sobs out two words. “I can’t.”

Jane doesn’t yell, but Maura almost wishes she would. The defeat in her eyes nearly demolishes her. “Why the fuck not?” She asks it softly, like she doesn’t expect an answer.

Maura doesn’t know how to make this better. She doesn’t know how to make Jane’s pain stop or to keep her intestines from ripping themselves out of her body in protest. So she does what she always does. She tells the truth.

“I can’t be gay, Jane.”

Jane looks up at her, disbelieving. “What?”

“I can’t be gay. I just can’t.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?”

“No, I – I mean I can’t leave here with you instead of him.”

Very carefully, Jane drops all of her walls, and lets her eyes tell Maura how deeply she’s in this. “Why not?”

“Because all my life I’ve been _almost_ right.” Maura is crying freely again, but her voice is surprisingly steady. “I was always pretty but not the good kind, kind that intimidates people. I’m smart but the kind of smart that alienates people instead of impressing them. I was always polite but not polite enough to cover up how strange I was. I have beautiful clothes but I wear them at the wrong times. I became a doctor but the kind that makes people think there must be something wrong with me. And I’m so close to having one thing be good enough, to having one thing be just the way it’s supposed to be. I came here to get a man, Jane, and if I came home with a woman instead? No. I…I just can’t do this to myself again. Not when I’m so close. So if being with him means I can’t be with you…”

“Maura, please.” It’s a whisper, a plea, a prayer.

But it will go unanswered.

“I’m sorry, Jane. I can’t.”

And she opens the door and walks out and all Jane can hear are her unspoken words. You are not good enough for me.

 

* * *

  

_She rocks gently on top of you and nothing has ever been this perfect. Her body is incredible but you can’t stop looking into her eyes._

_You’re coming so close, and she bends down and kisses you deeply._

_She presses her forehead to yours and says only “For me, Jane.” And you do._

_And she relaxes softly on top of you and she’s beautiful and sated and boneless. And you don’t have to hold it back anymore so you tell her. “Always.”_


	9. Chapter 9

You’ve never felt like this. You’ve been alone before, you’ve been miserable before. But it’s never felt like this. It’s never cut so deep. You’ve never felt someone else’s pain so strongly. You’ve never looked someone in the eye while you hurt them and watched them cry. You’ve never known what it feels like to crush someone so completely.

You’d never have guessed it would feel this awful.

Your whole life you’ve been the one crushed and tearful, watching people walk away from you. Other kids at school, potential boyfriends, classmates, coworkers. Your goddamned parents denied you every single day of your life, never failing to show you how disappointing you are. You’ve always been the object of the cutting remarks, the cruel words, the thoughtless dismissals. You’d thought nothing could feel worse than being rejected like that, day after day.

But then you rejected Jane and the pain in her eyes nearly killed you. It’s clear now. It feels so much worse on this side.

This is the worst thing you have ever done.

But you still don’t quite get it.

You spend the next few days desperately trying to get it. You withdraw into yourself, barely giving Brockton or the other girls the time of day. On a group date to the shore, you leave the group to go on a long walk by yourself. No one stops you because Jane is the only PA on the date and she doesn’t look at you anymore. Out of respect for her you’ve kept your clothes on all day, but you know it’s not enough.

You walk for what might be miles in the wet sand, letting the occasional wave carry fresh foam over your feet. You haven’t been able to figure anything out these last few days, so you’ve decided to fall back onto your empiricism. You’ll pull out every memory, every feeling, everything you’ve thought to be right and dissect them. Science will help you. It has to.

You lay out what you know: Jane made you feel more loved than you ever have. Just thinking about how she looked at you in bed makes it hard to breathe. The night she held you in her arms and you told her about Ian completely melted you. She’d kissed your head and called you “mchumba” and you hadn’t understood where on earth all your organs had gone. It was scientifically impossible but your entire body had gone weightless and sung. And when she’d thrown you to the ground to protect you from the bullets you’d felt something else entirely. She’d tried to get off you and you’d tried to roll on top of her to shield her with your own body. You’ve felt protective of patients before; you’d shielded them with your body more than once, from bullets, from disease, from death. But never quite like this. Never so irrationally, never so emotionally. Never with nothing to offer but yourself.

And then she’d let you kiss her and everything in the world had shut off. You’ve had intercourse with a number of people, and before that night you’d have said that you’d made love before. But you hadn’t. You really hadn’t. Jane made you feel so many new things. First and foremost, she made you feel loved. Special. Precious.

And there were a lot of feelings swelling in your chest about her but you didn’t let yourself look at them too closely. They scared you. Even in that space, in that tender moment with her, those feelings frightened you. Best to lock them away.

It was everything, that night. But then you’d woken up just before dawn and your hand had been wrapped in her hair and she’d had her back to you. Your body was wrapped around her back and you felt so much for her you were sure you were going to die. This feeling couldn’t last. It wouldn’t. It never had before. And those other times you had survived it, when they had turned their backs on you after whispering your name in the dark. But you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you wouldn’t survive this one.

So you’d crept out of her bed and washed her scent off of you and neatly filed all of your feelings about her into your ever-growing DO-NOT-TOUCH folder in the corner of your mind. They joined all the memories of childhood torment, of lonely birthdays and empty chairs at performances and science fairs. Garrett’s sneer and Ian’s neglect are meticulously alphabetized among dead toads snuck into your book bag and whispers of “Queen of the Dead.” Your father’s empty chair and your mother’s haughty disdain have lived there forever, and your mother’s folder grows every time she doesn’t call or refuses to let you talk about your job at the Club. The word “disgraceful” peppers her file.

No matter how hard you try, the word “disgraceful” leaks out and peppers your heart.

Jane had loved you that night like you weren’t a disgrace. If she had found out what you truly are, all those terribly tender feelings about her, and the terribly disgraceful ones about yourself, would have exploded out of the folder, drowning you completely. Just the idea of Jane rattled those meticulous files, reminding you of all the pain you’ve already survived. You don’t deserve Jane and you probably couldn’t survive her anyway.

You don’t deserve her, which is good because you simply cannot have her. Being a medical examiner is a disgrace. Being a gay medical examiner…you’re a genius and you can’t think of a word for it. All you can see is your mother’s face the day you’d been forced to tell her that you had applied for, and received, a residency in forensic pathology. She’d looked disgusted, appalled, disappointed, horrified. Like she regretted ever taking you.

You would do anything in the world to never see that look again. You can never disappoint her again. She is always telling you to get married, to find a nice man with a good career who won’t embarrass the family any further. Jane is not what she meant.

You don’t deserve Jane, which is good because you simply cannot have her.

 

* * *

 

The next day you’re sitting in the living room reading another forensic journal. You’d smuggled in a great stash of them when you first arrived, and you’re looking for an excellent article on bullet trajectories from moving cars that you remembered reading last spring.

Right as you find it, the other PA hustles over and pulls the journal from your hands, telling you in no uncertain terms that you may not read this type of material in the house. He tries to hand you another fashion magazine but you are sick of this bullshit.

You leap to your feet, eyes flashing, and snatch the journal back from him. No one in this house ( _except Jane)_ has heard you speak with any sort of authority, and you take perverse pleasure in watching his face change as you snap at him with ice in your eyes. “No. I’m sick of this bullshit. I’m a medical doctor and you **will** respect that or I will walk out of this house. This pattern of disrespect stops now. You will never attempt to control my reading material again. Is that clear?”

He startles and scurries away, clearly shocked into silence. Being Queen of the Dead has its perks. But right as you start to smile, you see Jane standing across the room. She turns away quickly, but not before you see the start of tears in her eyes. And for once in your life, you figure it out.

Suddenly your whole body is filled with ice. Your organs have frozen and you can’t get warm. Your medical training kicks in and you find yourself sitting in the hot tub, stripped down to your underwear before you can remember making the decision to get in. You tuck your knees up to your chest and hold onto your feet as you dissect what you’ve learned.

You’ve always fought for the science. You fought your parents and your teachers for it, you left Garrett when he wouldn’t respect the career you’d chosen. You’ve fought everyone who thought a young pretty girl shouldn’t want to perform autopsies and couldn’t be good at them. You threatened to leave this house for the science. But you’ve never been able to fight for yourself like that. You’re just some strange little girl. You don’t deserve that sort of passion, not even from yourself.

The science is worth it, worth the sacrifice and the disappointment and the disgrace. But nothing else about you ever has been. And Jane doesn’t know that you’re worthless and disgraceful so she didn’t understand why you’d threaten to leave for a magazine but not for her. But the problem isn’t her. It never was. It’s you. You’re the one who is worthless.

You are not enough for her.

She deserves everything and you can’t give her anything. Maybe you and Brockton really do deserve each other. She was right about him, but wrong about you. You’re both worthless.

You put your disappointing head down on your stupid knees and you cry worthless tears into the steaming water. You don’t notice Jane watching from the house or the few tears that run down her neck to disappear into her black shirt.

 

* * *

 

Three days and one rose ceremony later and you’re on another group date. Everyone is on this one, and whomever does the best on it will win a one-on-one date, which, at this point, is basically just a humping session. The idea of it makes you a little sick. This date is a helicopter trip out to the Vineyard, which is a horrible waste of fossil fuels but you say nothing. Your parents are currently at their home on the Vineyard but you say nothing about that either. You refrain from mentioning that you’ve ever been.

The girls are nervously chattering about the helicopter before it takes off. None of them have ever been on one before and they’re afraid of crashing.

“You don’t need to worry,” you say thoughtlessly. “There is very little wind today and this helicopter is quite large. The likelihood of a crash in these conditions is very small.”

Everyone turns to look at you. “Have you been in one before?” Chloe asks. She’s not forgotten what you did for her and she always does her best to draw you out. She’s sweet. If you understood how to make friends, you think you would have picked her.

“Yes, quite a few during my time in Africa. Most of them were like this one, but I was in one much smaller one in rural Uganda.”

“Why were you in a helicopter in rural Uganda?”

You hesitate, but you remember one of the rules. _Be intentionally vulnerable. Share something about yourself that you’re not sure you should share._ You’re not sure you believe in the rules anymore, but just in case, you follow them. “It was a medical evacuation helicopter. I was with a woman that was dying in childbirth. We had to evacuate her to the hospital outside Kampala.”

Everyone is listening now. “Did you make it?” Kelly asks breathlessly.

You grow cold at the memory, but you continue. “No. Her labor continued to progress dangerously, so I was forced to perform an emergency c-section in the helicopter.”

“Oh my god!” Chloe leans in. “You cut her open in a helicopter?”

“Yes.”

“Did you even have anesthetic?” Kelly’s eyes are wide.

“No. All I had was a Swiss army knife and a bottle of vodka to disinfect the blade and incision. I didn’t even have gloves. She was awake until she passed out from the pain.”

Brockton laughs and stretches out his arms, hooking one around Kelly’s neck. “Shit, man. That’s so gross.” He leans over and bites her earlobe.

You blink rapidly at his absurdly insensitive response. That c-section was one of the most frightening things you’ve ever done. You remember the look in her eyes as she told you to do it, how she asked you to care for the child, sure she would die. You remember her screams and the feel of her uterus in your hands. You remember how her blood squirted all over you, spraying the roof of the helicopter and steadily dripping into your hair for the rest of the trip. You remember holding the baby in your hands, desperately feeling for a pulse.

It’s only Chloe who leans over to ask. “Did you save them?”

You smile, faintly. “Yes. They both survived.”

Chloe’s eyes brighten with pride. She’s proud to have been saved by someone so accomplished. Brockton doesn’t notice. He leans in and kisses Kelly on the mouth. It’s sloppy and performative and it repulses you.

Chloe reaches over and squeezes your hand and you’re so glad you were able to save her.

 

* * *

 

The helicopter touches down on the Vineyard and you immediately get out and walk away from the group. The producers leave you alone. They’re done trying to control you, and it’s about time because you are done with this bullshit.

Brockton doesn’t respect you. That’s clear. He wants your body and nothing else. And it wasn’t until he disrespected your work right in front of you that you truly realized how much he repulses you. Jane was right: he is awful. He is awful and stupid and you hate him. And you hate yourself even more for playing this stupid game and chasing after him. Because he fucking sucks.

You look up the sky and it finally crystallizes for you. Fuck _The Bachelor_. Fuck it and fuck Brockton. Fuck this system that taught you it was okay to string people along like this. Fuck this system that taught you that what you did to Jane was okay. That you can love someone enough to marry them but they have to be okay watching you kiss other people up until you propose – that the end erases the middle. That women never get a choice but men don’t have to choose until the end. That a woman in love has to share but he never does. Fuck that. Jane wouldn’t share you because that’s what it means to care. You and she fell deeply into each other quickly, more quickly than you’d have thought possible. But she couldn’t share you because she wanted you so much. And Brockton kisses other girls in front of you and won’t even pretend not to be repulsed by your work. And you can no longer pretend to yourself that you’re not repulsed by him.

This isn’t the science of people. This is the worst of people. He is the worst and science deserves better. You thought these were the rules of people but now you know they are just the rules of _The Bachelor._ And they are incredibly stupid and they taught you to destroy the only good thing you found here.

The only real person you’ve met is Jane. The only person worth knowing is Jane.

And you threw that away.

You hadn’t thought being with Jane had anything to do with Brockton. You hadn’t compared the experiences because they were incomparable. Winning Brockton was a war, a long campaign. It was a forced march in the Afghani heat, a series of distasteful maneuvers to be undertaken for the final outcome to be positive. It was very rarely pleasurable – you faced it with grim discipline and faith that it would somehow transmute itself into a good thing after you won. And being with Jane is dancing. Every moment with her is like that perfect moment on stage where you can forget the steps and the rules and you just dance. That moment where your brain shuts off and you just feel and it flows and its natural and you feel beautiful and powerful and just right. And you’re completely in your body and you completely transcend it and you know, even before they applaud, that you’ve done something incredible. Something you’re proud of.

It never crossed your mind to compare war and dance. It wasn’t until Jane made you choose that you realized you would have to, that _The Bachelor_ rules are not real. You’ve always been so good at compartmentalizing. You’d thought that was a good thing; it made you a good doctor, a good medical examiner. But now you realize it blinded you. Brockton is tank warfare and Jane is ballet but they are the same and you had to choose.

And you chose wrong.

 

* * *

 

You spend the next two days writing a series of letters to Jane. You write and re-write and re-write again because none of them are good enough. You have no idea how to tell her everything you want to. To tell her that you realize how horrible you were, the devastation you caused her. That you know now what she’s always known about him, about you, about the show. About her. That she’s worth so much more than you.

You don’t know how to tell her those things because you have finally realized that you want her. You’re doing some pretty impressive compartmentalizing again, focusing only on wanting Jane and not on what your mother will say. But you want her and you know that. But how do you say it? _Jane, I fucked up so badly and I did everything wrong and I ripped your heart out and I know that, but will you be my secret lesbian girlfriend anyway?_

It seems hopeless. But you write anyway. You try your best to show her that you mean it this time. That you’re begging for her forgiveness and telling her that you choose her, even if she’ll never choose you again. You try to explain that you’re not assuming she’ll want to be with you again, but if she might you’d really like that a lot. You try to tell her that she’s too good for you but that you hope she might just take you anyway. It’s hard because you’re so fucking worthless and she deserves everything. But every time you see her she’s sad and before you did this to her she was happy. And she gets to choose and if she’s dumb enough to choose you, then thank god.

In the end, you’ve handwritten fifteen pages of feelings and none of them are good enough. But they never will be, and you never will be, but now you have to be brave.

 

* * *

 

You knock on her bedroom door. It’s late, everyone else is asleep, and you haven’t been here since you rejected her so completely. You’ve stopped talking to her, flirting with her, trying to get her attention, so she doesn’t suspect it’s you.

She opens the door.

She opens the door, and, god, she’s so beautiful. She’s wearing shorts and a tank top and you want to run your tongue all over her body but mostly you just want to spoon her again and cry a little into her hair.

She opens the door and you do your very best not to look at the bed but it’s a very small room and if you don’t look at the bed all you can look at is her.

She doesn’t look pleased to see you, but now you have to be brave.

“I know you hate me. I know that. I deserve it, and I know that too. And I know that I have no right to ask anything of you. But I wrote, um, a lot, and I’m sorry it’s so much but I just couldn’t get it right and if I looked at it for another second I’d throw it all away and you deserve to know and I don’t know how to tell you and I was confused before, well not confused maybe as much as wrong, but I’m not really confused anymore and I just want you to know that, I, um—” You trail off, realizing that you’ve been rambling so quickly and for so long and you maybe are going to pass out right here in her doorway. And you’re not sure what words you’ve said, but apparently they were okay because she very slowly reaches out and takes the stack of papers from your hand. You hand her every page you’ve written, every re-write and every tirade against yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. You turn around and walk back to your room, leaving her standing silently in her doorway.

 

* * *

 

Two days later you’re in the living room that used to belong to you and Jane. You’ve been staking it out since you gave her the letters, trying not to hope that she’ll show up. You put on the Red Sox game but you’re not watching it. You’ve brought a journal and a Vogue (you do genuinely like Vogue. Just not when you want to be reading about forensics, honestly) but you aren’t reading them either.

When Jane walks in, you wonder if you’re dreaming her. But there is very little chance your imagination would have created that injury. You stand as you cock your head, slightly. “Hairline fracture. The nasal bone above the lateral nasal cartilage. It’s not disfiguring.”

She smiles, almost. She takes a step closer. “Can you pop this out for me?” It’s the first time she’s spoken to you in days and it makes all your organs switch places inside your body.

“What happened?” You can’t stop staring at her face.

“I can’t talk about it,” she says, but not harshly. You raise an eyebrow in question and she nods in response. Police something something, then.

“Can’t you do something safe? Like yoga?” You tease her like you would have before. She says nothing but doesn’t run. You reach up and gently touch her chin. Your heart switches places with one of your ovaries. “Might hurt a little.” You’ve already hurt her so much, but she nods.

“Okay.” You snap it, quickly, and she recoils dramatically. “OW! A little?!” She bites back a swear and you bite back a smile.

“Put some ice on it for the next twenty-four hours so you don’t look like Mike Tyson.” You’re a doctor. Be a doctor.

But then she grins at you from the doorway, and leaves you the sweetest peace offering in the world. “I will, but come on, Maur. We both know you’re the biter.”

 

* * *

 

You find her note on your pillow that night. It hardly seems fair that in return for your fifteen pages of emotionally exhausting word-vomit, you get three words. But then, you deserve even less than this.

You fall asleep clutching the note in your hands.

_Give me time_.


	10. Chapter 10

_Give me time_. What on earth does that mean? Maura spends the entire next few days overthinking it. How much time? Hours? Days? Months? And how, exactly does one _give_ time? Time is a constant, it can’t be given, it just passes, regardless of her intentions. That’s the whole thing about time. Unless Jane was engaging with the philosophical notion of time as a social construct? In which “time” does not exist, and only humanity’s artificial constructions—hours, years—have any real bearing. But then, how many units of what artificial measurement did Jane mean? The pure imprecision of it is driving her mad.

And regardless of which philosopher’s conception of time Jane meant ( _this is why citations are important!_ Maura chides for the hundredth time), time is one thing Maura doesn’t have a lot of. _The Bachelor_ is a juggernaut, intended to force a process that usually takes years into ten weeks. Maura refuses to make out with, flirt with, or really even look at Brockton because she has evolved past a state of _complete_ idiocy. But that limits her time to the measly hours between now and the next rose ceremony at which, if she fails to let Brockton speak to her, she will be unceremoniously ( _get it?_ Wordplay can be delightfully distracting) kicked out on her ass.

All she knows is that “give me time” means she shouldn’t go up to Jane and ask what it means. “Give me distance,” is maybe more apt, although, of course, distance is another thing that cannot be given. This is infuriating.

She deserves it, of course, but lord, it is infuriating.

But, as it turns out, she needn’t have overthought it so much, because Jane is the first one to make a move.

On that sunny Wednesday morning, exactly three days and six hours after Jane asked for time, the five remaining girls are woken up and told to put on their most chic casual wear. They’re loaded into a limo and driven to a large park outside the city. It’s beautiful and relaxing. They’re led to spot with several picnic tables covered with checkered cloth, a volleyball net strung over a sand court, a full basketball court, and an awesome play structure complete with a large faux tree house on top of the slide. The sun is shining, for once the humidity isn’t oppressive, and Maura’s nose twitches at the scent of chlorinated water. If only this weren’t _The Bachelor_ , this would be a perfect summer day.

But, of course, this is _The Bachelor_ , which means that every nice thing that happens to Maura is about to be ruined.

Brockton arrives and welcomes the girls to their “summer picnic day.” He pretends like he set it all up himself and Maura simply cannot believe this used to be something she wanted.

“But the picnic isn’t the only surprise!” He’s such a douche. All the girls squeal like they don’t know something terrible is coming. “We have some surprise guests!” He gestures with one beefy arm, and a stampede of people flow over to the group from the parking lot.

Kelly screams. For one insane second, Maura thinks this might the zombie apocalypse. Then she realizes Kelly is running _toward_ the people. In that moment, Maura realizes this is worse than the zombie apocalypse. Because the word Kelly is screaming is “Mom!”

It’s their families.

Maura begins to hyperventilate immediately. She hasn’t seen her mother in months. She’s only seen her twice since returning from Africa, and each of those times was a stilted conversation over a distinctly non-picnic lunch at the Club. She cannot see her mother like this.

Her mother cannot see her like this.

Fragile, broken, lost, failing, desperate, stupid. Gay. Maura is not, in any sense of the word, ready for this.

She hopes to pass out and considers intentionally holding her breath until she does just that. She notices, like she’s dreaming, that everyone else around her has run to the group, yelling and laughing and crying. Even Brockton has his arm around someone who must be his mom. After a moment, the horde congeals into five distinct groups: one huddle around Brockton and one around each of the girls. Maura’s eyes scan rapidly for the outlier, the one person who hasn’t found their child yet. A few frantic moments of searching prove conclusive.

There are no outliers.

No one has come for her.

 

* * *

 

From the parking lot, Jane watches with horror as the families run toward their girls. She didn’t know until about ten minutes ago that this was happening, and she’s blindingly furious. She was, just a moment ago, given the task of grouping all the strangers by whom they’re here for, and it quickly became clear to her that not a single member of Maura’s family has come. For a wild second she considers stripping off her headset and running with the family members to tackle Maura in a hug, kiss her until their lips go numb, and run away with her forever. But instead she just stands there, giving the horde the signal to run when the producer in her ear demands it.

She trots slowly after them, her eyes glued to Maura. She watches as Maura hyperventilates, her hand coming up to clutch her neck as her chest flushes a startling pink. She watches as Maura’s eyes frantically scan the crowd, first with fear, then disbelief, then, finally, with a flicker resignation so deep that Jane is ready to tear everyone around her limb from limb.

She kind of hates Maura, but she also probably definitely loves her, and no one deserves this.

Jane turns on her heel and stalks off to find the incompetent fucked up dickwad in charge of this fiasco. She dearly wishes she weren’t undercover so she could shoot him. As it is, she’ll just have to make do with her words. And possibly fists. Okay, fine, words. Maybe.

 

* * *

 

Maura is experienced with this sort of thing. She turns quickly and busies herself with unpacking the lunch supplies. She pulls her tightest mask back on her face, and does her best to look cheerfully impassive. And busy. This is familiar. This is how she got through every dance recital, every visiting weekend, every dressage show. Her costume was always put away and her horse groomed before everyone else was done hugging. If she were required to stay for a while, for some sort of group picture or other ceremony, everyone else would return to find their makeup packed up and their horses unsaddled for them. Maura has always been very good at looking busy.

It works for about fifteen minutes. Even the cameramen seem to overlook her, for once failing to get a close-up of the saddest person at the party. Her work is only interrupted when sweet Chloe taps her on the arm.

“Hey, Maura? Um, sorry to interrupt, but my mom wanted to meet you.”

Maura turns around, polite smile already in place. She extends a hand to the small round woman in front of her. “Pleasure to meet you,” she murmurs.

But before she can say more, the woman, completely ignoring her hand, reaches out and pulls Maura into a tight hug. Maura is pretty awkward about it, both because her hand is now squashed between their stomachs and because she’s never been a good hugger. But the woman doesn’t seem to notice. She just squeezes Maura for a long moment before finally pulling back.

It’s only when she sees the tears running down the woman’s face that she realizes what the hug was all about.

“Thank you so much for saving my baby girl.” She reaches out and grabs Maura’s hand ( _oh, now, great_ ). “That phone call from the hospital was one of the worst moments of my life, but Chloe told me that if you hadn’t been there, she could have…” She trails off, sniffing. Chloe reaches over and rubs her mom’s back, wincing sympathetically at Maura.

“Mom, it’s okay. I’m fine.”

“I know you are, baby.” She kisses Chloe on the head and then turns back to Maura, squeezing her hands like a loving vice. “Thank you so much. My girl means the world to me. I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Maura is struggling to deal appropriately with all this emotion. This is why she works on exclusively dead patients. “Please, you don’t need to thank me. I’m a doctor, it’s my job to help.”

The woman just reaches up and pats her cheek. “You’re the savior of our entire family, dear. If you ever need anything, or you’re passing through Kansas City, you just call us, alright?”

Maura nods, hoping she doesn’t get hives from the half-truth. After a final long hug Chloe successfully pulls her mother away, raising an eyebrow in embarrassed thanks over her shoulder.

Maura turns back to the table, looking for the next thing she can arrange. It isn’t a full minute before she feels someone standing next to her. Her breath catches as the sun dances on raven curls and tanned skin. Her eyes flick up and they make eye contact for first time since Maura fixed her nose. She shudders, just a little.

“Want to get out of here?” Jane is holding a bag and her headset is off, slung through a belt loop.

Maura nods immediately.

Jane turns and begins to walk out of the picnic area. Without looking back at Maura, she silently crosses the distance to play structure and climbs up to the very top. She ducks into the tree house, drops the bag, and then turns to look down at Maura, still standing on the ground and looking perplexed.

Jane raises an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for me to let down my hair to you? Cause I gotta tell ya, you’ll be waiting for a while.”

Maura smiles, tucking her hair behind her ear. “No, I was just strategizing.”

“Uh, not sure how much strategizing is required here. You just kinda climb up.”

Maura sighs, then slips out of her heels and delicately hands them up to Jane. “Hold these, please.”

Jane takes them, grinning, as the deeply sophisticated doctor awkwardly maneuvers up the ladder and into the tree house.

They sit with their legs hanging over the edge, facing the part of the park devoid of cameras, douches, or loving families. Jane unpacks the bag. She’s swiped a complete meal and a bottle of wine. They eat and drink in companionable silence, passing the bottle back and forth between them.

Each is silently afire, but content to just sit, basking in the glow of an easy meal and the feeling of the other right next to her.

After they finish eating and cleaning up, Jane softly breaks the silence.

“I’m really sorry your parents didn’t come.”

Maura shrugs, looking down at her knees. “I shouldn’t have expected them to.”

“I didn’t know.”

Maura looks over. “What?”

“I didn’t know they were doing this. I would have told you, if I’d known. They just told me like ten minutes before it happened.”

“It’s alright. I don’t blame you.”

“I would have told you. I mean, if I’d really known, I would have forced them to get someone to come to see you. But, either way, I would have told you.”

Maura smiles softly. “Thank you.”

“Oh, and you should be expecting a formal apology from Danny in external production. He’s the one in charge of this glorious fuck up.”

Maura looks at her, eyes narrowing. “What did you do?”

Jane opens her eyes, widely innocent. “Who—me?” Maura’s eyebrow arches to her hair, and Jane snorts. “I might have made my…displeasure…known.”

Maura smiles. “Well, thank you, Jane, but really, it’s alright. I think I’m glad my mother didn’t come.”

“Why?”

Maura takes moment, considering how much to share. “I’ve told you we’re not close, she and I, but I don’t know if I gave you the clearest picture. She—well, she adopted me, she and my father, but I don’t think she ever really connected with me. She was distant, always. She’s not cruel, or neglectful, just…aloof, I suppose, is the word. Rather cold. And I think I’ve always been a disappointment to her.” Jane’s brain screams in protest at the idea of Maura being a disappointment, but she says nothing. She’s still afraid. “She’s always been ashamed at my lack of social skills. She hates my job. She’s appalled that I haven’t married yet, and I’m fully expected to marry well, which, to her, means a descendant of the Mayflower or a noble European family. She’s never…I don’t know. She’s never really liked me for who I am, I think. She never gotten over her disappointment that I’m not who she wanted me to be.”

“I’m really sorry, Maura,” Jane says sincerely. “That sucks. You don’t deserve that.”

Maura looks at Jane, searchingly, for a long moment. Then she reaches over in slow motion to rest her hand gently next to Jane’s on the floor. Pinky flush against pinky. Jane doesn’t move away.

“She would hate you.” Maura says to their hands.

“Excuse me?”

“She would hate you. It’s one of the reasons I…you know.”

“Ran away?” Jane suggests wryly.

“I was going to go with ‘fucked up,’ but, yes, let’s say ran away.” Maura looks up in time to catch Jane’s faint smile at her curse. “I’ve always let her approval matter to me. Too much, I’ve realized. Someone like you, someone from a regular family who operates on instinct and morals and emotions and passion, someone wild and beautiful and powerful, someone she couldn’t control—no, she’d hate you even if you were a man. But a woman?” Maura shakes her head before looking Jane directly in the eye. “I let her get in my head, Jane. I got scared, and I let the way she would see you color the way I saw you, and that was…”

The long pause makes Jane start to sweat.

“It was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

Jane’s hand drifts to cover hers, resting like a blanket on her skin.

“What changed your mind?” Her voice is huskier than usual with emotion.

“You’re the only person who ever made me feel like I’m enough, quirks and all. You’re the only person in the world I want to show my whole self to. And you’re the only one I’ve ever met that I want to know everything about. I just, I just want to bury myself in you. And that terrified me, but it…god. It’s everything, Jane, you know?” She looks to Jane for assurance, and Jane nods softly. “It was such a good feeling that it scared me away. But I’m not afraid anymore. You make me imagine that I could be enough, someday.”

“Maura.” She’s on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you. Make you feel the way you made me feel.”

Jane clears her throat. Then, after a beat, softly. “You did, Maur. Until you didn’t.”

Maura’s breath catches in her throat and her hand twitches under Jane’s. “I hope one day I’ll get to show you again.”

In slow motion Jane dips her fingers down, interlacing them with Maura’s.

 

* * *

 

That night there is supposed to be rose ceremony. Each girl is petrified, except for Maura. She’ll either be eliminated and never have to see Brockton again, or she’ll stay and get to see Jane more. It’s kind of a win-win. They all put on their sparkly gowns and their tons of makeup and float down the stairs to sip champagne and wait for filming to begin. Filming a tv show always involves a lot of waiting, but tonight is starting to seem excessive. After an hour and half, hair has wilted, lipstick has faded, and Mel is well on her way to a blackout. Maura absentmindedly hands her glass of water and walks over the bookshelf in the corner of the living room. She selects _Moby Dick_ , a beautiful leather-bound hardcover, and opens it to the beginning, expecting to see the familiar “Call me Ishmael.”

The book is blank.

This place is so stupid.

She looks around for someone to show, but Chloe is deep in conversation with Kelly and Jane is nowhere to be seen. Shaking her head, she slides the book back into its place and walks over the other girls just as the producer walks in.

“Girls, gather round please.” They’re already gathered, but, sure. They shuffle closer to one another. “I’m sorry to tell you that there won’t be a rose ceremony tonight. Brockton has become quite ill, so we’re delaying shooting for a week. We’ll resume with this rose ceremony next Wednesday. Until then, we’ll have activities scheduled for you. The usual rules still apply. You are not to leave the house on your own and you may not contact anyone without our permission. I’ll see you in a week.”

He tries to walk away but the girls pounce on him, wanting to know everything about their poor Brockton, what’s wrong with him, can they visit him, is he asking for them?

Maura is thrilled. A week! A week to be with Jane without having to deal with Brockton or elimination – it’s almost like real life.

 

* * *

 

The fourth morning of their vacation from Brockton is a Sunday. The girls are roused at a deliciously normal hour for a brunch in the city. Maura dons skinny jeans and a purple top. She puts on just a little makeup, leaving some of her freckles visible. But, of course, she’s still Maura, so her heels remain sky-high.

Things have been much more relaxed in the house without the cameras around. Maura has fallen into an easy almost-friendship with Chloe and has been spending most of her time with Jane. They haven’t done anything remotely romantic and they haven’t talked about their relationship thing since the tree house. They’ve just gone for a lot of runs and watched a lot of Red Sox and Jane has worked a lot. It’s been perfect, like a promise of what things could be. Might be. Maybe even can be. Easy, happy. Amazing.

They all pile in the limo for brunch, and Maura is delighted when Jane hops in. All the girls greet her –everyone likes Jane – but she comes to sit next to Maura. “Hey.”

Maura says “hey” back before she gets a good look at Jane, which is for the best because her visceral reaction shuts down her entire brain except for one particularly throbby part.

Jane looks incredibly hot. She’s wearing old ratty jeans that practically hang off her and a plain white t-shirt with a black sports bra pretty clearly visible underneath. She’s the very vision of athletic butch, and it’s making Maura’s vision go dark around the edges. Maura codfishes for a moment, and Jane, seeing exactly what’s going on, laughs with surprise.

“Really, Maur?” She gestures to her outfit, which she carefully selected because it was her only non-work and non-running option. “This does it for you?”

Finding her mouth surprisingly dry, Maura can only nod. Emphatically.

Chuckling, Jane reaches out a finger and closes Maura’s mouth. Maura suppresses a very strong urge to suck on Jane’s finger. And then also rip all her clothes off. Or, actually, they could leave the clothes on for a while.

Maura is pretty sure she could orgasm from just the thought of Jane in this outfit. Jane wants to count every freckle she can find before showing Maura just how butch she can be.

They both just sit there, staring at each other, smoldering.

 

* * *

 

The brunch is a drag brunch. A gigantic May West serves the drinks while a bearded Marilyn takes their orders. Mary Poppins and Elaine Stritch sing for them while Dolly Parton dances with some of the other patrons. Every other queen is a Liza Minnelli or Judy Garland, and the hostess is such a convincing Lindsey Lohan that Jane does a triple take.

Some of the girls seem uncomfortable, but Maura and Jane impress each other with their casual attitude. Maura even dances an astonishingly graceful waltz with Cyd Charisse, something the other girls can’t stop talking about.

It’s the best thing they’ve done on this whole dumb show.

After they’ve finished eating, they wander around the area for a while until the limo drops them off at the start of the Freedom Trail. Maura and Jane amble along behind the rest, content to be together.

“That was wonderful.”

Jane shoves her hands in her pockets. “I’m glad you liked it. I’m the one who picked it.”

Maura looks over, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I’d heard about it before, but I’d never been. What? Why do you look so surprised?”

“No, I just…I don’t know. You’re just not the type I’d have expected to want to go to a drag brunch.”

“Why not? Cause I’m not a drag queen?”

“No, of course not. I guess I had just assumed because of your religion and where you grew up that you would be somewhat uncomfortable with gender expressions outside of the male/female binary.”

Jane just grins over at her. “I’m full of surprises.”

“You certainly are.”

After a few moments, Maura can’t hold it back any longer. “Jane?”

“Yeah?”

“How is it that you’re so okay with the whole…uh…gay thing?” Jane just looks over at her, amused. She feels awkward, so, in true Maura fashion, she keeps talking. “I mean, you said that you’d never kissed a girl before, so I imagine that you’ve never been with a woman, and I’m completely confused and flustered by the whole thing, and you just seem so casual and I don’t understand and I feel so backwards around you, Jane, sometimes.”

Jane reaches out and takes her hand, silencing the ramble. “That’s…that’s a bit of a long story, Maur. And I’ll tell it you, I promise. But right now, can we just enjoy the sunshine and the walk, and you can tell me everything that these plaques get wrong or leave off?”

Maura looks over at her and immediately gets distracted by the outfit and the eyes and the hair and the face and the body and the hand in hers. She squeezes it and looks away before she does something unseemly. “Of course. Take your time.”

She misses Jane’s smile.

 

* * *

 

Jane has been working all day. Detective working. Maura is lonely and bored. She doesn’t want to swim, or run, or make small talk. They don’t have anything to cook and she’s read everything she’s brought. Twice. And those goddamned books downstairs are blank. She’s about to join Kelly watching TV when Jane’s hand reaches out of her room and snags her.

“Hey, Maur, can you pop in here for sec?”

Trying to tell her body to shut up, Maura comes into the room. She’s surprised to see Barry Frost, and the site of him calms her libido in a most helpful manner. He’s brought up a chair from the dining room and he’s staring hard a file on the bed. He looks up when she enters, gives her a cheerful, “Hey, doc!” and goes back to the file.

Jane closes the door behind her. “Maur, I know you’re not working right now, and I know it’s not the right chain of custody, and we’ll get our ME to confirm, but he’s out sick and his replacement Pike is just awful, and we really to know about this now.”

Maura blinks, trying to find the question inside of all those statements. “Are you asking me for a consult?”

Jane laughs. “Oh. Yeah, sorry. We need a consult. Can you help?”

“Of course.”

Jane sits down on the bed and gestures for Maura to join her. She moves the file to where all three of them can see it. “This body was found late yesterday. He had a bag with him filled with our shooting schedules and a blueprint of the house, so it’s a sure bet he’s connected to our case. Our ME was able to do the preliminary work, photographs and x-rays, but he got sick before he could do the invasive stuff.”

“Jane, I hope you aren’t asking me to perform an autopsy on this man. That would violate nearly every protocol in the book—”

“No, no, of course not. This is what we need.” Jane flips to some close up photos of the man’s torso and head. “He was clearly beaten. What we need to know is if this was done by hands or something else and, if it was hands, what you can tell us about the size of the hands that did it.” Jane is grasping at straws here: her own ME would be able to tell her, from an in-person examination, if the marks were made by a fist or another object, but wouldn’t be able to tell size. This is what she expected of Maura.

She quickly realizes her mistake. After about three minutes of analyzing the photographs, Maura launches into a long explanation of each injury. Her level of detail is absolutely mind-numbing (Jane can see Barry’s eyes actually glazing over), but Maura is able to conclusively tell her not only that each mark was made by **a** fist, but that each was made by the **same** fist that most likely belonged to a large and strong man. She even draws a diagram of where she would expect that man to have the most significant bruising on his hands.

Jane could kiss her. She probably would if Barry weren’t there. She spends a few moments trying to collect her scattered wits because all she can think about is how hot and brilliant Maura is and how it’s cool that she’s more brilliant than hot. Except, no, she’s hotter than she’s brilliant. No, both. Yeah, both.

Maura watches Jane come back to herself. She remembers the hot tub. She remembers how it felt to be wanted by Jane back then. She can’t help but feel amazing. She gives her hair some extra swish as she leaves, and is gratified to see Jane’s wits drift, once again ungathered, back to the floor.

 

* * *

 

Tuesday night arrives much too soon. The next day they’ll begin filming again, and Maura wishes this week could have lasted forever.

She finds Jane sitting out by the pool. She’s reclaimed a lounge chair from where they’ve been stacked in the corner and is leaning back with her eyes closed. Maura walks out to her, then hesitates. Should she wake her up? Should she get another chair? Should she leave? But Jane has been working all day and Maura misses her.

  
Before she can decide, Jane cracks an eye open. “Hey, creeper.”  


“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No, I wasn’t sleeping. Come, sit.” Jane pushes herself into a more upright position. Maura turns to go get another lounge chair, but Jane’s voice stops her. “Where are you going?”

She’s confused. “To get a chair?”

Jane looks at her for a long moment, and then seems to decide something. She lifts and drops her feet to the ground on either side of the chair. She pats the space between her legs. “I’ve got room.”

Maura’s brain stutters. “I—are you sure?”

Jane smiles, softly. “No. Come here.”

Maura glides over and, very delicately, sits down. She’s facing the side, not sure exactly what Jane wants. Jane laughs a little. “Maura, come here.” She grips Maura’s hips and guides her until, somehow, she’s turned with her legs straight out in front of her on the chair and she’s, slowly and carefully, lowering her body until it’s flush against Jane’s front. She holds herself there for a moment before Jane pokes her sharply in the side. “Maura. Relax. Give me your weight. You’re not going to break me.” She leaves off the word “remember?” but they both hear it anyway. Maura does as she’s told and positively sinks into Jane.

Jane takes a deep breath and wraps her arms around Maura’s stomach. Once Maura’s body is back under her own control, she covers Jane’s arms with her own.

Nothing has ever felt better, or more terrifying. Or more perfect.

After about twenty minutes of feeling each other, Maura’s voice softly fills the night, asking the question she’s been so afraid to ask. “Why are you giving me another chance?”

Jane tightens her arms. She drops her head down to rest her nose on Maura’s neck. She breathes in her hair and shampoo and smell and feels it again. Safe. Whole.

Just when Maura thinks Jane isn’t going to answer, she begins to speak.

“About three months ago, I got this case. It was my first big, complicated case since getting promoted from patrol. I was shiny and new and so excited. I’d worked so hard at the academy and as an officer, and here I was, the youngest woman to ever be promoted to detective in BPD. And I was so ready to stop working petty drug cases and tackle a real menace to society.” Jane makes sound that’s almost a laugh at her own naivety. “And then we caught this case, and it was really bad. This hardcore meth dealer, really dangerous guy. Stabbed a bunch of people, nearly killed a couple, cooked and distributed meth at the highest level. He had this girlfriend who we thought was in on it with him, but…” She pauses, gathers herself, and completely puts herself in Maura’s hands. “He was so abusive, he fucked her up so badly. She’d do anything for him. She did everything for him.

“She had a kid, this little boy. Aiden. He’s three years old. And she let her boyfriend knock him around, leave him alone for hours, just anything he said to do. And she dealt for him, and cooked for him, let him shoot her up whenever he wanted. She was so messed up, from the drugs and the abuse; she had no idea what she was doing. And this guy was evil, like, real evil. He would do anything to keep his empire, and then…” She takes a breath. “And then he found out we were after him. That I was after him.”

She swallows hard, and Maura feels it. Maura rubs her thumbs over Jane’s arms, slowly but firmly, so she knows she isn’t alone. Jane drops her nose back to Maura’s neck for a moment, then, confidence somewhat restored, continues. “He grabbed me from a stakeout and took me out to this warehouse. It was out the middle of nowhere, across the border in New Hampshire, really rural. And he kept me there for two, almost three days. He was sick, twisted; he didn’t want to kill me, he wanted to break me. To make me his slave, like his girlfriend. His methods weren’t particularly gentle. He, um, he mostly did stuff that didn’t leave marks, but I guess he started getting bored, or frustrated or something. So he started to slice me up. He cut me on my side.” She almost draws the line on Maura’s ribcage, but stops short. Maura should never know what that violence felt like, even for an imaginary second.

“As soon as it started to clot, he’d reopen it. Again and again. You probably saw the scar, that night. And I was just…helpless. I had no phone, no gun, tied up. And this kid, he was just there, watching some of it. And his mom, too. And I couldn’t stop any of it.” Maura tightens her grip. She doesn’t realize she’s crying.

“But, somehow, they found us. They found me. The police came, and the National Guard, cause he’d crossed state lines, and the FBI and stuff, I guess. But he had a scanner and he heard them coming. So he set the warehouse on fire.” Jane feels Maura’s body tense; she knows what’s coming. “It was full of meth ingredients and tanks of gas everywhere for the trucks and the stoves and stuff. It went up like a candle. Everything, just fire everywhere, explosions. And the woman, she just ran after him. Just left her kid there in the corner with me, and everything was on fire. And the air was…well, you know.”

“Toxic.” Maura offers softly.  
  
“Yeah, super toxic. Anyway, I got the ropes off me, somehow, I don’t really remember. And I grabbed Aiden and started to run out, to try to find a door or something. And I then I heard her screaming. Just, screaming. And I knew either he was killing her or she was burning. But I had this kid and everything was on fire and the door was the other way and I didn’t want him to die and I didn’t want him to watch her die so I ran.”

“Jane.” She can’t help it. She loves her.

“And I saved him, the kid. But by the time we were out, the whole building had collapsed. And she was dead, and it wasn’t…none of it was her fault. She was so fucked up, and he did that to her, and then he killed her and I couldn’t save her.”

“Jane.” Maura turns on her side, curling up into Jane. She doesn’t look at Jane’s face, she just snakes one arm behind Jane’s back and reaches the other up to cup her jaw. Jane tightens her grip, her entire body tense. She gently drops her forehead onto the top of Maura’s head, resting there until Maura hears her pulse begin to calm.

“You asked me why I’m giving you another chance. It’s because—Maur, when I’m with you…just running or hanging out too, but especially like this, when I can feel you under my hands and smell your hair and feel like I can just climb inside you…” She takes a breath. “When I’m with you is the only time a part of me isn’t still in that warehouse, hearing her screaming for her life, feeling the blood pouring down my body. When I’m with you is the only time a part of me isn’t still with him. The only time I’m ever safe.

“You make me whole again, Maur.”

Maura just holds her for a long time.

Eventually Jane speaks again. “Remember when you asked me why I was okay with being gay?”

Maura can barely remember. Being gay seems so stupid up against the magnitude of what Jane has already survived. But she nods against Jane’s chest anyway.

“After what happened, Aiden’s aunt came up from Maryland to get him. She adopted him, full immediate custody. She and her wife.” And Maura understands. “She told us that she tried to help her sister, to get her out of that life, but that her sister was deeply homophobic and wouldn’t talk to her. She and her wife, they were amazing with Aiden. He loved them immediately, he was so happy with them. And they send me letters and pictures, and he has this amazing life now, with them. So much better than he would have ever had with his mom. And so, after that, how could that matter to me, you know? After everything they’re doing, everything they are…everything that straight relationship did to him. It just can’t matter, you know?”

Maura nods. She knows. She strokes Jane’s cheek with her thumb and, for the first time in her life, learns to whisper words of comfort in English.

 

* * *

 

They fell asleep in the chair, curled up in each other. They wake up just after dawn, creaky but deliriously happy. Happy, that is, until they hear the cameramen setting up again.

“Ughhhhhhhhh,” Jane groans. “Fucking Brockton.” She peels an eye open. “Sorry.”

“No, god, don’t apologize. You were right about him and I was an idiot. I wish he never had to come back.”

Jane hums her agreement, pulling Maura back into her for just one more minute.

“Jane?”

“Mmph.”

“Jane, what do you want me to do about Brockton?”

Jane’s eyes open. She looks foggily at Maura for a long time before she answers. “Don’t kiss him.”

Maura rolls her eyes. “I know _that_ , Jane. I mean, do you want me to get eliminated or to stay here so I can be with you?”

Jane doesn’t need to think about it long. “I want you to stay here so I can protect you.”

Maura cocks her head. “Is it that bad?”

“I don’t know.”

Maura considers her. Then, softly, she places her hand over Jane’s heart. “Will you let me protect you too?”

Jane looks at her seriously, all sleepiness gone from her eyes. “I want so badly to trust you again.”

Maura just smiles. “So trust me. I’m a very intelligent woman, Jane. I rarely make the same mistake twice.”

She shifts slightly and lowers herself until her forehead is resting on Jane’s. Their eyes close. “I’m right here, Jane. When you’re ready.”

After a moment, she gathers herself up, slowly places a long kiss on Jane’s head, and stands. Before she can turn to walk into the house, Jane grabs her hand.

“I’m ready.”


	11. Chapter 11

Maura puts on her most blatantly seductive dress for the Rose Ceremony. Jane has asked her to stay and not to kiss Brockton, so she knows she’ll need to be as enticing from a distance as she can be.

It works. Kayla is eliminated, leaving just Maura, sweet Chloe, Brockton’s favorite Kelly, and drunk Mel in the house. Maura’s thrilled to stay, and hopes Brockton thinks she’s just playing hard to get when she only lets him kiss her cheek at the end of the night. She gives him flirty face, and he seems frustrated but okay. She hears him and Kelly going at it later that night in a supply closet, so she imagines he isn’t too heartbroken.

Yeckh.

As soon as he’s busy in the closet, the cameramen hurry away, which means Jane is off for the night. Jane hustles up to her room, hoping to make her bed before catching Maura and inviting her to stay. Maura shares a bedroom with Kelly, so, based on what is going on downstairs, it might be prudent for her to absent herself for the night. And, even if the two douchebags weren’t humping like remarkably well-coifed animals, Jane never really wants to spend another night away from Maura. Ever.

She hurriedly opens the door to her room and stops on her heels. Maura is in the room already. She’s turned off the lights but lit a few candles that Jane knows she stole from downstairs. She’s still in her gown, which, by the way, has been screaming at Jane at night. ( _“Rip me off with your teeth!” It says. “There is most likely no underwear underneath me! I’m already letting you see nipples through me!”_ ) Her eyes are intense and she looks like she might devour Jane before Jane can get a single hand under the dress.

Without taking her eyes of Maura, Jane closes the door behind her in slow motion. Before she can speak, Maura clears her throat.

“Jane Rizzoli.” Her voice is low and heavy. Jane nearly comes. But then Maura’s eyes twinkle playfully, she grins, and, if possible, she becomes even more heartstoppingly beautiful. She pulls something out from behind her back. “Will you accept this rose?” It’s the white rose Brockton has just given her. She grins wider and her eyes flash with mirth.

Jane crosses over to her in two long strides. She grabs the rose and flings it away. “Hell no.” She growls, immediately bending down to suck on Maura’s neck, hard. Maura’s laugh is loud and rich. She tosses her arms over Jane’s shoulders and tilts her head to the side, leaving Jane plenty of room.

Her voice is steady but a bit breathy. “Well, Jane, if you don’t want my rose, whatever is it that you want?”

Jane just growls and tugs at the dress. Maura laughs again before swatting Jane’s face away from her neck. “If you leave a mark there, I will murder you.” Jane pulls away, giving her the most intense puppy eyes she has ever received. Maura just smiles, before reaching up and unfastening the halter of her dress, letting it fall to reveal everything above the waist. She guides a dumbfounded Jane back until her legs hit the bed, pushing her down to sit. She swiftly stands between Jane’s legs, and guides Jane’s head to where her eyes are burning like lasers. “Leave one where only you can see, Jane.”

Jane growls again, and Maura laughs until she loses her breath.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve never laughed so much in bed before.” Maura is drawing lazy circles on Jane’s sternum with a soft forefinger. Jane is on her back and Maura is propped up on her elbow, tucked into Jane’s side.

Jane turns her head and makes a face. “I can’t tell if that’s insulting or, like, really sweet.”

Maura dips down and kisses Jane’s shoulder. “Don’t be silly. You’re an incredible lover, Jane.” Jane makes a face at the word “lover,” and Maura brushes her wrinkled nose with a smile. “I meant that, for me, sex has always been only erotic pleasure. But with you…it’s just wonderful. I love it. I like that we laugh, during.”  
  
She turns slightly insecure eyes to Jane, who softly reaches up and cups her face. “Me too, Maur.”

But before the sappy moment can continue, Jane flips Maura onto her back and scuttles down her body, leaving a trail of incredibly ticklish kisses down her stomach. Maura giggles uncontrollably, trying to use her legs to heave Jane off of her. Jane blows a loud raspberry on Maura’s lower stomach that makes her arch up in protest, and then, suddenly, other things are happening.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Maura has to go on a thirty-minute date with Brockton. Tomrrow she’ll have to do on a full-day date with him, but she’s trying not to think about it. This thirty-minutes with be annoying enough. Brockton has gotten to the stage where he thinks any time with a girl, alone or not, is a guaranteed trip around second base at least.

Maura’s not excited about the gymnastics she’ll have to do to keep him interested while he strikes out. But Jane is worth it. _You were dumb enough to get yourself into this situation_ , she lectures herself as she does her makeup, _so now you’ll have to be smart enough to get yourself out of it._

She walks out of the house to see Brockton standing by a motorcycle. He’s already got gloves and a jacket on. He smiles when she walks out and leans in to kiss her cheek. He hands her a helmet. “You ready for a ride?” He doesn’t ask her if she’s scared, if she wants to do this, if she’s ever done this before. He doesn’t ask if she’d like to change her clothes or shoes. He doesn’t even really ask if she’s ready, because he’s already getting on. Maura, catching sight of the camera, barely stops her eye roll. She wordlessly examines the helmet carefully and, deeming it sufficient, buckles it on securely.

She swings her leg over the back, internally praising herself both for staying limber and for choosing to wear stretchy skinny jeans today. The stilettos are not what she would have chosen for a ride, but they’ll suffice. As soon as she’s settled, he starts the engine. She grips his waist tightly, and he lets out a sharp painful exhale.

She’s immediately concerned. “Are you alright?” She runs her hands up and down his waist, immediately in diagnostic mode.

He shakes her off. “Fine. Had an appendix thing but I’m fine now. Just don’t grab so tight.”

And without another word, he kicks the bike into gear and speeds off.

 

* * *

 

The date is surprisingly easy. It helps that at least twenty, if not twenty-five of the minutes are spent on the bike, so she isn’t really expected to talk to him or let him kiss her. He’s a surprisingly good rider; during their short stop, he tells her that he used to ride motocross as a kid. He tells her that he feels freer on a bike than anywhere else. She wonders why he looks so sad. She wonders why he’s such a douche all of the time. She wonders why he doesn’t just ride more, instead of doing whatever it is that he does.

But, of course, she can’t feel too sorry for him because he doesn’t ask her what makes her feel free ( _science Jane Jane science_ ) and instead pushes her up against the bike and grinds on her. She manages to turn around, pretending to admire the view behind the bike, so he can only grind up against her ass and leave wet slobber on her neck, rather than attempt to penetrate her through their clothes as she’s seen him do with other girls. Maura has always found motorcycles to be erotic, and if it were Jane pressing her into this bike, she’s sure she’d love it. As is, it’s just painful.

She shudders, and manages to blame it on being cold. He backs off with a sigh and hands her a leather jacket that was stored under her seat. It’s black, soft, and ridiculously sexy. She immediately starts planning how to steal this from the house and wear it over only lace to make Jane happy. Brockton pees over the side of the road and then returns, climbing astride the bike. She makes sure he doesn’t put his hands on her for the rest of the date.

When they return, she leaves her helmet on for long enough that he can’t really go in for a kiss. When she’s ready, she leaves a long kiss on his cheek and flits back into the house as quickly as she can. She remembers to throw him a smoldering look over her shoulder to keep him interested, and is pleased no one has remembered to ask her for the jacket back.

She goes immediately to Jane’s room, where she finds the detective pacing and biting a fingernail. “Jane.” Her head snaps up, and she looks at Maura, both fearful and hopeful, aroused and afraid.

Maura closes the door behind her. She smiles softly at Jane. “I’m okay. It was fine. Nothing happened.” Jane sags with relief. “We’re okay?”

Jane practically runs over to her and cups her face in her long hands. “More than okay.” A soft kiss, and Maura finally feels better. “Maur, I need to thank you. I know I’ve put you in this really shitty situation, and you’re…amazing.” Maura smiles up at her and kisses her gently again.

“You’re worth it.”

A few minutes later, Jane and Maura are in the bathroom. Maura is washing off her neck with a cool washcloth to rid herself of Brockton. She’s filling Jane in on the date. “It was lucky that I’m not terribly afraid of motorcycles. He didn’t want me to hold on to him tightly because he was experiencing some pain. Another girl might have fallen off.”

“He was in pain?” Jane asks it lightly, but Maura can tell there is something behind her words. Maura shakes her head with a smile at Jane’s poorly concealed schadenfreude.

“Yes. He said it was his appendix, but from what I could discern, it seems that the pain was located on his left, where as appendicitis pain roots in the lower right-hand side of the abdomen.”

“What do you make of that?”

Maura is distracted by making sure she gets all of the gunk off her neck, so she isn’t even bothered by guessing. “I surely don’t know. It’s possibly he is covering up a more embarrassing injury. Many people feel shame about a variety of gastro-intestinal issues. It is possible is suffering from Colitis, Crohn’s, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or a number of other gastroenterological conditions…” As she puts the washcloth down, Maura notices that Jane has zoned out. Belatedly realizing that gastroenteritis is not the sexiest conversation topic, even when assigning it to someone your current partner hates, Maura rapidly changes the subject.

She places her hand on Jane’s stomach. “Jay.” Jane’s head snaps up. She pulls off her own shirt, which got a little wet during her ministrations. “I need you to erase him from me.” Jane’s face changes immediately. “Would you like to do that?”

Jane grabs her hand and leads her from the bathroom. They don’t emerge from the bedroom until dinner.

 

* * *

 

There is something Jane needs to say. She’s scared of telling Maura, but she’s more scared of leaving it unsaid and being blindsided once again. After dinner she leads Maura out on the deck by the pool, which seems to be the place where she feels the safest to confess. They’re next to a lounge chair but they don’t sit. Jane looks at her feet for a long time, but Maura is patient. Finally, Jane, still studying the ground, begins to speak. “Maura, from the first moment I saw, you the first time we talked, you split me open and left a part of yourself inside me, right here, in my gut.” Jane rubs the spot under her ribs where the icy blue shard had lived, before Maura’s kisses dissolved it into honey. She’s pretty sure she’s being romantic, but she looks up to see Maura completely horrified.

“Jane! I have never left a foreign object in a body! That’s a terrible health hazard! Live patients die from sponges left inside at a truly alarming rate, and even in my line of work, leaving objects – especially an object of mine! – would be not only a travesty for science but could compromise an entire diagnosis or criminal case!”  
  
She’s working herself up to a frenetic pitch Jane has never seen. She does the only thing she can: reaches over and softly covers Maura’s mouth with two of her fingers. “Maur. Hey. It was, um, what’s it called. Symbolic imagery. Not literal, okay? I know you didn’t leave a literal sponge in me.” The light snaps into Maura’s eyes. She’s quite a literary scholar. Symbolic imagery is something she can handle, excel at, even. But Jane still deserves to be punished for that scare, the insinuation! She really needs to learn to be more precise with her language!

Jane tentatively raises her fingers about half an inch from Maura’s lips. Maura’s eyes narrow and she snaps her head out, biting down hard on the fingers. “OW!” She sucks on them gently, her smile turning devilish. “…oh.”

After a moment or two, Jane forcefully takes her fingers back and shakes her head to clear the image of Maura sucking on all kinds of things wearing all kinds of nothing from her conscious mind, shoving it back into her spank bank to join seventy million other images of Maura. “Wait, Maur, I mean, that was, well, yes, please, but later? I’m trying to be like…” She looks pained. Maura helpful puts up a happily neutral curious look. “…romantic.” She mumbles it, and Maura completely melts. Her instinct is to walk directly into Jane, scoop her up, and kiss her for hours. But she can tell Jane wants to use her words to be romantic, something Maura knows will be a rare occurrence. So she holds her body still with an iron will, and just nods supportively.

“Maur, before, um, this,” gesturing flatly between them until Maura nods again in understanding, “I could feel you, inside here. When you were sad or lonely, especially, I could feel it.” She rubs her ribs again, and Maura suddenly makes sense of that nervous tick. Jane always rubbed her ribs when Maura seemed particularly sad. Knowing that was about her, not about Jane’s past injuries or indigestion from her appalling diet, melts her even further. “It…I don’t know. It’s never happened to me before. I get gut feelings, you know, at work,” Maura’s eyes make it clear that she does not, in fact, know. Jane smiles softly and explains. “I have instincts, at work, that I feel here, in my gut.” She moves her hand a bit lower. Maura nods. She’s heard this colloquialism before, but never understood it. “But this was different. This was just, I don’t know. It was you. And all I wanted to do was make you happy, and whenever I made you smile or laugh or feel good, it would get smaller. But when I would see you with him, or when I made you sad – it got bigger.”

“Oh, Jane.” Maura can’t keep it in anymore. She reaches out and gently touches Jane’s face, just to make sure she’s real. To remind her that Maura’s real. That it’s all okay now.

Jane turns her head to kiss Maura’s palm before taking the hand in hers and playing with the fingers. She can’t look at Maura as she says this last bit. “When we slept together that first night, it, like, melted. It felt like, just warm all over, you know?” Maura nods again, eyes shining.

“But then, I mean, you know what happened.” She can’t look at Maura at all, but she trusts that Dr. Memory Card hasn’t forgotten. “It froze again. But it was everywhere. Not just in there, you know, but everywhere. In my fingers, behind my eyes, all over, I just froze. And I’m still…I don’t know.”  
  
Maura squeezes Jane’s hand with both of her own, letting her tears run down her cheeks unchecked.

“Maur, I’m scared. It’s melting again, and it’s almost gone, and it’s everywhere, and I’m so scared that I won’t survive this again. That if you leave again, I’ll…” She sniffs.

Maura tries to make her voice as loving and supportive as she can. “You’ll what, Jane?”

“I’ll crack. I’ll freeze. I’ll die.”

Maura drops Jane’s hand and steps immediately into Jane. With a finger under her chin, she brings Jane’s eyes up to hers. “Oh, Jay.” She holds Jane’s face in her hands, tenderly but firmly. Jane’s barefoot and she’s still in her heels, so for once they’re the same height. “Jay, let it melt. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Let it melt, love.”

Jane’s eyes snap to hers, asking the question.

Maura smiles, softly, and pulls Jane into her. Jane drops her head into Maura’s neck, and Maura rubs her neck and scratches the bottom of her scalp softly as she murmurs her answer. “I’m here, love. I’m not leaving. I’m here. I know you’re scared, but I’ve got you now. I won’t hurt you again. Let it go, love.”

Jane’s response is quiet and muffled, but it nearly kills Maura all the same. “Could you maybe call me that again, sometime?”

Maura’s unseen smile could melt an entire warehouse of ice sculptures. “Every single day, love.”

The shard completely melts, flooding Jane’s veins with molten honey. She burrows into Maura, who just gathers her closer and keeps whispering it. “I’m here, love.”


	12. Chapter 12

That night, they sneak out after everyone else is in bed. They shuck their robes and slip into the hot tub. This time Jane isn’t the least surprised when Maura straddles her. This time, Jane isn’t ashamed of staring at Maura in that goddamned tiny little bikini. This time Maura doesn’t hide her pleasure in having Jane look at her like that, although, to be honest, she hadn’t really been hiding it the first time either.

This time Jane gets to lean into the black hole, letting it suck up her hands and, after about ten minutes, her entire face. This time, after about half an hour, that tiny bikini is swirling around in the corner all by itself as Jane indulges herself. After an hour, it’s joined by Jane’s smallest bikini (which is still much more substantial than Maura’s, because, lord Jesus, everything in the world is more substantial than that). They float in companionable silence, pushed to a fro in the jets, as their former wearers do some slightly less silent activities.

A while later, Maura is happily boneless against Jane. Jane is rubbing her back softly under the water, and neither has ever been so relaxed. “I’m gonna miss this hot tub.”

Maura smiles against her shoulder. “I’ll have one installed in my backyard first thing.”

“You have a backyard?”

Maura nods. Jane grins. “Awesome.”

Maura nips her shoulder before sitting up. Jane groans at the loss of contact. Maura glides over to their suits and hands hers to Jane. “Help me put this on, please.”

“Why? Why we gotta leave? I love this hot tub. This hot tub is my new happy place.”

Maura just smiles. “Because, Jane. My fingers are getting wrinkled. And I really need to maintain my dexterity for what I have planned for the rest of the night.”

Jane is out of the hot tub in a flash. She, butt naked, holds out Maura’s robe for her to step into. “Then fuck the bathing suit, Maura, and hurry the hell out of that hot tub.”

Much later, Jane mumbles softly into Maura’s collarbone. “I think you’re my new happy place.”

Maura kisses her head and drifts off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning is, unfortunately, Maura’s full-day date with Brockton. She tried to get Jane to be the PA on it, but Jane refused, claiming that it would be worse to watch than to wait.

They drive down to a beach on the Rhode Island border. He drives them in a convertible, and her hair is absolutely terrible in the first three minutes. By the time they arrive, Maura is carsick because Brockton insisted on driving like a total dick and in a terrible mood because of how long she spent on her hair this morning. He was also incredibly handsy in the car, which bodes terribly for the rest of the day, and also explains some of her nausea. She’s honestly not sure she can make it through the date without slapping him or puking on his shoes. But she’s going to try. For Jane, she’s going to try.

They walk down to the beach. He leads her to an umbrella set up a few yards back from the shore. There are two surfboards under the umbrella, and Maura’s spirits rise for the first time. They both pull on wetsuits (hers, she’s unsurprised to find, is too small, sleeveless, and only goes to her knees, rendering it nearly useless) and drag the boards out to a flat stretch of sand in the sunshine.

She suffers through half an hour of him mansplaining how to surf before they finally head into the water. Her ballet, fencing, yoga, and equestrian experience pays off, and after a while she doesn’t even need a push from him to stand up on each wave she chooses. At that point, he surfs his own waves, and she can almost pretend he doesn’t exist. The wind in her hair and the burn in her muscles feel amazing and she’s actually able to relax and truly enjoy herself.

But all to soon, the fun part is over, and he pulls her back into shore. Leaving their boards for a PA to deal with, he immediately starts stripping the wetsuit off of her. Without asking, he grabs her zipper and jerks it down before sticking his hands in it and squeezing her breasts, hard, before she can stop him. She flushes with fury and disgust, only a breath away from picking up her surfboard and braining him with it. She tears her body away from him, spinning, ready to spit fury at him for groping her without her consent.

But, like at the end of romance novel or a Kate Hudson movie, suddenly, as if her fury has conjured her protector, Jane is there. Jane is there, and it takes Maura a second to register that instead of PA uniform of a black jeans and a black t-shirt, Jane is wearing a grey suit with a blue v-neck under it. That Jane is wearing boots and a belt with a badge and a gun clipped to it. That Jane is sexier than Maura has ever seen her.

That Jane is out-of-cover.

Jane marches up and grabs Brockton’s arms, twisting them behind him. Before he can even squawk in protest, she looks up at Maura, careful to make eye contact. “Are you okay?”

Maura nods quickly. She is under no illusions about the fact that if she had said no, Jane would have shot Brockton right then and there, in front of the cameras and Frost (when did he get here?) and the other detective-looking people standing with him.

“Good,” Jane grunts and, holding his arms in one hand, she swings a practiced hand to her belt and, in the blink of an eye, snaps her cuffs onto his wrists.

Brockton finds his voice. “What the hell are you doing? Who the hell are you? This is outrageous!”

But Jane just chuckles and tightens the cuffs.

“This is illegal! Call my lawyer!”

“Oh, you’re gonna want to call your lawyer, that’s for sure.” Jane is positively smirking. She quickly reads him his rights, but he yells over most of them. It’s too bad, because she’s sure he’s too dumb to know them himself.

“YOU’RE A FUCKING PA. YOU CAN’T ARREST ME. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING.”

Jane leans in from behind him, really close. Looming, terrifying. “I’m a fucking Detective, you dickbag. Show some respect to your betters, why don’t you.”

“Fucking bitch.”

She laughs, and steps around to his front. “That’s Detective Bitch to you, douchebag.”

He rears up his head. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU ARRESTING ME FOR??”

Jane sighs, exasperatedly. She throws him down on his ass in the sand. “Well, I’m pretty sure I just fucking told you that, but since we have to wait for the bus to get here, I’ll remind you.” Before she does, she looks over to Maura again. “Maur, are you really okay? I got here as soon as I could, but I know it was too long...”

Maura smiles at her, deeply confused, as she hasn’t heard the charges either, but probably thrilled. “Yes, I’m fine, Jane.”

“Good.” They share a soft smile before Jane turns back to Brockton and Maura quickly strips off the wetsuit and puts on a robe over her wet bathing suit as she listens.

“Well, douchebag, I guess being on _The Bachelor_ wasn’t going to be enough fame for you. So, like an idiot, you decided to up the ante. You wanted more press than a regular season of the show. So YOU sent threatening messages to the network, including, but not limited to, bomb threats, shooting threats, and threats of poison. Of course, you were too much of a dick to target yourself, even for pretend, so you threatened the women. Real chivalrous, by the way. But the network covered it up. They didn’t want word of the threat to get out, so they hired me to watch the girls and kept it hush hush.”

Brockton protests loudly, but Jane just rolls her eyes at him and kicks some sand in his direction. “Shut, up, douchebag.” She continues with her story. “Then you tried to blow up one of the limos the girls drive around in. You weren’t dumb enough to try to kill them, props on that one, but you tried to get enough of an explosion to bring the press. But I stopped that one before it happened, and you didn’t get your precious press. Your c-4 connection ratted on the operation, by the way. He wasn’t as helpful as he could have been, but he sent us on the right track. You should pick less weaselly people next time. But hey, lucky you, you’ll have time to renew your acquaintance. He’s going to jail too. He was dumb enough to think his deal would hold after he fractured my nose. But then I broke his balls AND sent him to jail, so I think I won that round, don’t you, B-town?” Maura smiles to herself, understanding just what she popped out that night in the living room when Jane started to come back to her.

By this time, Brockton is terrified into silence. He keeps looking down at his crotch, as if to reassure himself that his balls are still in tact. Jane just laughs, ruthlessly, before going on.

“Then, you hired someone to shoot at me and Maura. That was a mistake, buddy. A really big mistake. You know why?” She leans in to his personal space, towering over him, completely threatening. He trembles and she leers at him. “That really pissed me off.” She winks and backs up. “By the way, your breath is terrible. Anyway, we didn’t publicize that either, and you were running out of time, weren’t you? So you hired a hit man to get into the house and do some real damage. Something the network wouldn’t be able to cover up. You were gonna jump in and save the girls from him, be a real hero. But that guy, now that guy had a spine. He realized that you were going to turn him in, let him rot in jail while you posed for _People_ magazine. So he came at you. He came at you and you beat the shit out of him. He got some good ones in too, but you knocked him one too many times in the head and he died. He died, buddy. So now you’re going down for murder. Those guys over there,” she jerks her head over the men standing by Frost, “they’re homicide detectives. They’re here to book you. For homicide.”

He sputters. Jane laughs again, before walking over and pulling him to his feet. She surprises everyone by uncuffing him and spinning him around to face her. She gets up in his face and hisses, “You make trouble and I’ll shoot you right here, you understand?” He nods. He’s not a great criminal.

Jane strips off his wetsuit, revealing a mottled deep black bruise over his lower left ribs. She motions Maura over. “Hey Maur. You think fists could have made that injury?”

Maura leans in. She pokes the epicenter, not particularly gently. He positively yelps. She stands back up and leans very close to Jane. “It’s very likely that this injury was made by a fist, approximately eight to ten days ago.”

Jane smiles down at her. “Thanks, Maur. And just to clarify, this is not from appendicitis, is it?” Jane winks, and Maura gets it. Jane wasn’t being petty in the bathroom when she’d asked about Brockton’s injuries. She was detecting. Damn. Maura’s definitely going to wear that leather jacket for her. Soon.

Jane, obvious to how her detecting is making Maura feel, continues with her show-and-tell. “And hey, Maur, how about this bruising.” She darts her hand out, quick as a flash, and grab’s Brockton’s right wrist.

Maura gasps. Brockton must have been wearing concealer on his hands this morning, but the salt water has washed it off. His knuckles are a mess of bruises and small cuts. “This bruising is consistent with what I would expect to find on the hand of someone who inflicted the damage I saw on the body of the hit man, Detective.” Maura quickly walks Jane through the most obvious of the connections, and Jane beams at her. One of the homicide detectives in particular looks openly impressed and thoughtful.

Jane slaps the cuffs back on Brockton and throws him toward the police car that has just driven up to their spot on the beach. “Well, d-bag, it’s been real. Have a good time in prison, pretty boy.” She carelessly tosses him into the bus and turns away. But, before she’s more than a few steps away, she turns back. “Oh, and Brockton?” He looks up at her, simmering with anger and fear. She leans in so that only he can hear her. “I’ve been banging Maura since week four.” His jaw drops to the floor.

With a satisfied sneer, Jane slams the door and the bus drives off.

Jane walks back over to Maura, immediately cupping her face and looking intently into her eyes. “Are you really okay? It took me so much longer to get here than I wanted it to, I’m so sorry, love.”

Maura just smiles up at her. “Jane.” She shakes her head lightly. “You were perfect.”

Jane pulls her in, and Maura snuggles up immediately, breathing in Jane’s scent and letting all of her anxiety and anger leave her body. It’s over. It’s all over. Jane drops a kiss on her head and Maura looks up, asking for, and joyfully accepting, a long gentle kiss on her lips.

They only break away at the sound of wolf whistle. Frost and the interested homicide detective walk up. Frost is beaming. “Something you want to share with the class, Rizzoli?”

Maura expects Jane to step away from her, to snap at him, to call him turd, to kick sand in his face. But instead she just slips an arm around Maura, pulling the doctor into her, and grins. “Well, what can I say? There’s nothing like arresting the douchebag who’s been putting moves on your woman to end an assignment in triumph.”

She and Frost laugh, and Maura stands on tip toes to kiss Jane’s cheek. _Her woman_. God, yes.

The other detective clears his throat. “Oh sorry, Maur,” Jane says hastily. “This is Detective Vince Korsak, Boston Homicide. Korsak, this is Dr. Maura Isles, the pathologist from Mass General I told you about.”

Korsak and Maura shake hands before he turns to Jane. “Here’s somethin’ else to help you end this assignment in triumph. Nice job, Rizzoli. Brass noticed.” He passes her a piece of paper. She looks at it for a long moment, before lifting her eyes to his in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

She thrusts the paper over to Maura and leaps over to Korsak, giving him a gigantic bear hug. Maura quickly scans the paper and feels her heart begin to race with pleasure. It’s an application to transfer to Homicide.

She thinks she can’t get any happier until Jane bounds back over and kisses her until she nearly faints from lack of oxygen.

 

* * *

 

The return to the house is surreal. Maura and Jane drive back in Jane’s unmarked police cruiser, the first thing of Jane’s real life that Maura has ever touched. It smells like old fast food and it’s cluttered beyond belief. Maura loves it. She vows to buy Jane an air freshener, but she loves it.

When they arrive at the house, Jane calls all the girls, producers, cameramen, chefs, and support staff into the big living room. Once everyone has arrived, she calmly and slowly explains to everyone what has happened. She has to say everything about a million times because all of them are completely dumbfounded. Kelly and Mel are sobbing. Chloe is confused and upset and scared that someone was targeting her and she didn’t know. The crew is furious and yelling really legitimate questions about their pay. When Jane gets overwhelmed, Maura comes and stands behind her, rubbing her back softly. Jane stands up a little straighter and keeps everyone in line.

Finally, the top producers get on the phone with the network, and they take over the small living room for an emergency meeting. Jane is called into it, obviously, leaving Maura alone with the rest. She sees the anger and frustration in Kelly and Mel’s eyes, so she quickly runs away to take a shower.

A few draining hours later, Jane and the producers finally emerge. They call the large meeting back to order. The head producer announces that they will not be airing this season of _The Bachelor_ at all. “Detective Rizzoli, the BPD, and the network have decided that airing this season will only inspire other psychos out there to target the women of _The Bachelor_ to make a name for themselves. I’m sorry, but the footage from this season will all be sent to BPD as evidence and will not air. Kelly, Mel, Maura, and Chloe - each of you will be invited to next season of _The Bachelor_ and will be guaranteed a spot in the top twenty.” Kelly and Mel perk up at this. Maura snuggles deeper into Jane. _No fucking thank you_. “The rest of you will be paid your guaranteed salary even though we are ending filming early.” At this, all of the crew looks to Jane, who just nods at them. Maura squeezes her tighter. She’s the fucking best one. “We’ll have revised privacy agreements for you to sign by tomorrow morning, at which time you’ll be allowed to leave the premises.”

Kelly and Mel cry out of frustration for all of the time they have wasted. Chloe cries because it seems like the thing to do. As quickly as they can, Maura and Jane run away to Jane’s bedroom where they happily make out for hours. They both know, without saying it, that Maura’s career will be much more successful without having the black mark of _The Bachelor_ on it. This is extra important to Jane, because Korsak told her that there’s an opening for a Deputy Chief Medical Examiner for the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and that the Chief is looking to retire in five years. Jane can’t stop thinking about Rizzoli and Isles, crime fighters and ( _yeckh, that word)_ lovers.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, privacy agreements signed and bags packed, Jane and Maura, hand in hand, walk out of the house and into their real lives.


	13. Chapter 13

Jane’s white knuckled grip on the steering wheel would be more suited to high-speed car chase through Baghdad than to her current activity: cruising around a deserted fancy residential block at 5 miles per hour. For the fourth time. She was nearly shot at today at work, but she’s much closer to crapping her pants from fear now than she was then. Her blood pressure spikes as she takes in the lights and gates and neatly pitched roofs of Beacon Hill.

Maura is in there. Maura is in one of these houses. Maura is in one of these ginormous houses, and Jane is rolling up in her work clothes and ugly boots in an unmarked police car that smells like pizza and old socks. Jane is rolling up with an offering of pizza and a movie (unfortunately explaining only the less egregious and entrenched smell), and Maura is probably decorating sconces or feeding caviar to her cat or whatever it is rich people do inside the comfort of their own homes. Jane hasn’t seen her since they said goodbye at the _Bachelor_ house. Tonight is supposed to be their big reunion, but Jane can’t seem to control her body enough to make it happen.

She refuses to park the car. She is completely unable to. Seducing Maura, or rather, letting herself be swept away by the riptide of Maura’s attraction, seemed so much simpler when all they had to deal with were cameras, the constant presence of other women, and one slightly murderous skeeveball. Now that it’s real life, real things suddenly matter again. Money, status, work, family, religion. Personal grooming habits. Pizza topping preferences. Everything in the world jumps in front of the car and screams to Jane that she’s not good enough for this. That, now that she’s out of the _Bachelor_ house, Maura is going to look at her, really look at her, and run screaming in the other direction. Or worse: just raise one elegant eyebrow and laugh condescendingly in her face until Jane burrows through the Earth to China.

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Jane forces herself to forget what Maura looked like in that bikini _(fat chance)_ and starts to turn the car around. But as her headlights sweep the front of the nicest house on the block, they illuminate something that makes her hit the brakes hard to enough to give her a minor case of whiplash.

Maura is sitting on the stoop, cradling a mug of something. She smiles wryly at Jane and lifts one hand in a knowing half-wave.

_Well, fuck_. With a long-suffering sigh, Jane slowly maneuvers the car into the empty driveway. She turns it off and, with all the haste of an exhausted sloth, unfolds herself from the car and shuffles over to the house. Without making eye contact, she heavily sits down on the stoop next to Maura and immediately starts to play with her hands.

They sit in silence for a few moments, until Maura, not looking at Jane, speaks softly. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

Jane clears her throat and tries to sound normal. “Yeah, sorry.” Her voice is gratingly high-pitched. She clears her throat again and overcompensates, sounding more like her father than she thought possible. “Work went kinda long.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Jane can almost hear the smile in her voice. “I’ve been out here for a while.”

Caught in the act! “Oh.”

“At first I thought you were lost. Then I realized you were afraid.”

Jane sputters indignantly until Maura’s hand softly covers her own. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m scared too.”

Jane looks at her for the first time. Fuck, she’s so beautiful. “Really?” Her voice cracks and little and she hates herself.

But Maura just nods. “Of course. This is a crazy situation. I’m in love with you and I don’t know anything about you. You’ve never been to my house before. You don’t know what kind of car I drive, what time I like to get up in the morning. The whole thing is completely absurd.” She takes a beat, and then finishes softly. “But I’m – I’m so happy that you’re here.”

Jane squeezes her hand but says nothing. After a moment, Maura pushes. “What are you afraid of, Jane?”

Jane looks down at their hands and mumbles the truth that’s been eating at her for days. “You’re too…” She sighs. “You’re too fancy for me.”

“What?” It’s a scoff, but Jane misses it.

“I mean, look around, Maura. This house, this life, it’s…it’s not like mine.”

“Jane, look at me.” A long beat in which Jane stubbornly stares at the stoop. It’s a really nice stoop. This just makes her feel worse. “Look at me.” She’s using her firm boss voice, and it works. Jane looks up at her. “Really look at me. Do I look too fancy for you?” Jane slowly takes in Maura’s face, completely makeup-free and absolutely gorgeous. Her hair, tossed up in a messy bun. Her off the shoulder sweatshirt and comfortable looking shorts. Her bare feet and adorable little toes. She looks like a lazy Sunday afternoon, perfectly embodied into a gorgeous little package. Jane can’t help but smile.

Maura grins back. “The house is big, Jane, but it’s…not reaching its full potential yet. There’s a grill out back that I’ve never used and a big screen TV that has never shown a single Red Sox game. There’s a backyard begging for a hot tub. And inside are two guest bedrooms, as well as an entire guest house, that have never housed a single guest. The house, and I, have been waiting for you, Jane. For a long time now.” Jane squeezes her hand and she reaches her other up to tuck Jane’s hair behind her ear. “I’m not too fancy for you, Jane. All I am is here, okay?” Jane lets herself nod softly. Maura smiles at her. “Now, this pizza has got to be getting cold and there’s a tortoise inside that would love to meet you. Let’s not keep him waiting, okay?”

She stands and pulls Jane to her feet. Jane bends down to grab the pizza but Maura stops her with a hand to her wrist. She softly kisses Jane before pulling her in tightly and holding her for a moment. After a moment, Jane finally lets out a deep breath and feels all the tension leaving her body. “This is better than China,” she mumbles in Maura’s neck.

“Hmm?”  
  
Jane pulls back just enough to be able to see Maura. “I was considering tunneling through the Earth to China. But this is better.”

Maura leans in and kisses her nose before picking up the pizza and opening the front door. “This does seem better. Especially because if you tunneled through the Earth from Boston, you’d end up in the Pacific Ocean, about 600 miles south of Australia.” She looks back over her shoulder, dead serious. “You’d most likely drown.”

Jane grins as she crosses the threshold. _This is gonna work_.

 

* * *

 

Life with Jane has meant a lot of firsts for Maura. Her first real true love. Her first pillow fight (she lost). Her first tickle fight (she won, partly because of her medical expertise and partly because Jane’s offense was mostly flailing). Her first time making out in the back of a movie theater (they both counted that as a win).

And, today, her first time having sex at work.

She certainly never meant to have sex at work. Not today, not next year, not ever. But Jane comes to surprise her with lunch and flowers, a surprisingly romantic gesture. It’s supposed to be a simple meal in Maura’s office, just a gentle way to remind each other that this relationship is real and amazing and fun.

But then Jane actually walks into the lab and, the second she catches sight of Maura, she drops the picnic basket on the floor, sending sausages and cheese flying.

“Jane! Are you alright?” Maura rushes over, immediately in diagnostic mode. “What’s happened? Are you having a stroke?”

But when she reaches Jane, she recognizes the look in her eyes. Pure animalistic desire.

She stops short and lets Jane’s eyes rake over her. After a few moments, during which Jane is practically panting and Maura internally calculates the odds that Jane is going to actually drool on herself, Jane finally lets out a breathy “ _Holy fuck_.”

Maura tilts her head to the side. She isn’t feeling particularly sexy today. She’s in a pretty typical working outfit of a pencil skirt, green blouse, and her lab coat with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She’s been filling out paperwork so her hair is down and she’s in heels instead of the washable clogs she wears for autopsies. But Jane’s looking at her like she’s wearing the most expensive lingerie in the world.

Jane reaches out, grabs her hand, and forcibly steers her into her own office. And then proceeds, for the next twenty minutes, to make sure Maura knows exactly how sexy she finds the lab coat.

Maura’s assistant finds the picnic basket stranded in the middle of the lab. She quietly puts all the food back in it and stows the whole thing in the fridge. When she hears a loud moan of “ _fuck, doctor_ ,” she hustles back to the adjoining autopsy suite.

She and Maura never talk about how the food got into the fridge, but she finds some fudge clusters on her desk the next afternoon.

 

* * *

 

Maura’s vow of “no more sex at work,” a quick adaptation of “no sex at work,” lasts exactly until the next time Jane comes to visit her and sees her in black scrubs.

But fair is fair, so Jane lets Maura fuck her in the BPD locker room after watching her box, so they call it even.

And god help the neighbors the first time she sees Jane in her dress blues.

 

* * *

 

Jane has put off meeting the family for as long as she can, but it hasn’t been easy. After her long stint undercover, her mother has been insisting on seeing her several times a week, and even hinting that Jane should move back into her childhood home so her mother can “watch over her better.” Um, vomit.

Since Frost, Korsak, and Crowe all already knew about Maura, Jane knew she couldn’t keep her a secret from Frankie. He’s just a rookie on patrol, but word travels fast. After a great deal of coaxing, both verbal and non-verbal, Maura finally agreed to meet Frankie at Jane’s favorite bar. It ended up being much easier than she expected – Frankie was great and the whole night was remarkably low-key.

Maura’s been working on being okay about this change in her sexuality. She knows that Jane is it for her, and that people who are in love with each other often like to hold hands outside the home and meet each other’s families. Each new step has been terrifying, and she’s had to exorcize her mother’s voice from her head nearly every other day. But she’s getting better. Jane kissed her outside of the hospital the other day, and people saw, and she didn’t even panic a little bit. Jane introduced her to Frankie as her girlfriend, and she felt 80% pride and love, with only 20% fear and shame. Jane called it progress, and Maura agreed.

But now they’re standing outside Jane’s childhood home. Jane’s parents are waiting inside to meet her (actually, her father is waiting on the couch and her mother has her face pressed so hard into the glass of window overlooking the porch that it’s a miracle it doesn’t break). Maura’s about to walk in and voluntarily out herself to a set of parents. To open herself up to rejection from another set of family figures. To subject Jane to the kind of rejection she’s, so far, been spared.

But Jane kisses her forehead softly. “Shake it off, robot brain. They’re going to love you. And I already do.”

Maura burrows into her collar, inhaling the scent of safety. Inside the house, Angela audibly “awww’s.” Jane makes furious eye contact with her mother and gestures behind Maura’s back for her mother to back the fuck away from the window. Angela just grins at her and makes kissy faces. Jane rolls her eyes before pulling back from Maura. “Ready?”

Before Maura can answer, Angela flings the door open. She squeals, actually out-loud squeals, and grabs Maura. Before either young woman can react, Angela has propelled Maura into a full-body hug, and doesn’t let go while she crows a mile a minute about how beautiful Maura is and how happy she makes her Janie and how Angela doesn’t even care that she’s a woman because she’s a doctor and Carla Talucci’s son is only dating a receptionist who is much less good looking and how she hopes Maura loves gnocchi because she’s made enough to feed an army.

She finally lets go to bustle back into the kitchen and Maura, slightly dazed, takes a step backwards and collides with Jane. Jane reaches out steadying hands and grips her hips, whispering reassurances into her ear. But then Maura spins around and, in the instant before she burrows in Jane’s shoulder, Jane sees that she’s crying. Jane rubs her back for a moment before walking her into the house and depositing her in the kitchen with her mother. Angela hands her a cutting board and a cookie, lovingly putting both newcomers to work like a master chef.

For the first time in her life, Maura is surrounded by the smells and sounds and nearly incessant touches of a loving and devoted mother. Jane never leaves her side and, by the end of the night, Maura feels so full of love that she’s honestly worried about floating away. The goodnight hug she gives Angela is just as fervent as even Angela could want.

The next day at lunch, she opens up the bag of leftovers Angela packed her and bursts into tears. Inside the bag is a note. She spends the next twenty minutes on the phone with Angela and by the time she hangs up she knows that she’ll never really have privacy again, but it’s more than worth it.

_I’ve always wanted a second daughter_. _Welcome to the family, baby girl._

 

* * *

 

Their first fight is a doozy. Jane doesn’t really count what happened in the _Bachelor_ house as their first fight, because they weren’t really a couple then. But this one, this one is serious.

It’s one of those terrible fights where everyone is right and everyone is wrong, so there’s no satisfying ending. Jane is eaten away by a toxic combination of righteous anger and crushing guilt. She can’t quite blame anyone, so she’s just acting like a monster.

She’s such a bitch at work that Frost finally pulls her out of the precinct and throws her into a booth at the Dirty Robber, plying her with booze until she tells him the story.

She tells him about how Maura’s been emailing with Ian, arranging the logistics of his next visit to the states. **Ian**! Ian, Mr. Africa! Ian, the person who strung Maura along for years! Ian, the one who got away! Ian, the one who she would have stayed with if he’d let her! Ian, the only person Jane sees as competition! She’d arrested Brockton, and fuck if that didn’t feel good, but Ian is just this untouchable swath of well-educated muscley selfless man.

Fuck Ian, right! Right?

But then the guilt rises up in her, and she tells Frost about how she yelled at Maura without giving her a chance to explain. About how Maura had shouted: “Why don’t you trust me?” and Jane had shouted back: “Well how could I? Was I the only one in that house? Am I the only one who remembers what happened with Brockton?” About how Maura had cried and Jane had walked out.

Frost shakes his head and buys her another beer. When she’s buzzed enough to be self-critical but not maudlin, he hands her a pad of paper and pen. “Apologize,” he orders. It doesn’t escape Jane that this is the same kind of paper they give suspects to write out their confessions. It seems fitting, so she does it. She writes a long and rambling apology, filled with spelling errors and heartfelt emotions. She tells Maura about her insecurities and anxieties about them and about Ian. She apologizes for being a crappy communicator. Frost makes sure the letter says “I love you” between five and ten times before he lets her sign it and takes it back from her.

Maura gets the letter via express mail the next day around 3pm. By 5pm, Jane has a pdf in her email box of Maura’s entire chain of communication with Ian.

His first email is flirty. He assumes he’ll be staying at Maura’s house and Jane’s ready to kill him. But Maura’s response makes her heart flutter and her gut contract with love and guilt.

_Ian,_

_I must admit, I don’t know how to begin this message. I would normally say that it’s lovely to hear from you, but lovely isn’t how I would describe my feelings. It’s unexpected to hear from you. It’s complicated to hear from you._

_Things are different now from how they were when we last spoke. As you know, I loved you for a long time. The time we spent together was precious to me. I thought that, maybe, you were the love of my life. A few years ago, I was always happy to hear from you. I loved hearing from you._

_But that has changed. It took me a while but I started to get over how I felt for you. All on my own, I began to grow away from you. And then I met someone._

_Ian, I don’t know how to say this other than completely honestly. I met someone, and I’m in love with her. We’re serious, incredibly serious, and I’m planning to marry her. She’s better than everything I’ve ever wanted for myself. All of what I felt for you, the love, the anger, the confusion, is all in my past now. She knows about you, and about us, so it’s only fair that you know about her. You’re a huge part of my past, Ian, but she’s my entire future._

_If you’re still interested in coming to Boston, I’d like to see you. I think I’d like to be your friend. But it will never be more than that for us. She’s all I want, forever._

_Let me know. I hope you’re well. Stay safe._

_Maura_

Jane wipes the tears from her face and skims the rest of the emails. Ian’s definitely confused, but he gets it pretty quickly. Maura is unwavering, and within a few days he decides to come to Boston to start a friendship with her and to meet Jane. He’ll be staying at a hotel, and only for two days.

At 6:30pm, Jane shows up at Maura’s house. She’s brought wine and fudge clusters and a “property of BPD” sweatshirt Maura’s been eying.

Maura opens the door and before Jane can say more than “Baby, I’m so sorry” she’s in Jane’s arms.

They spend the entire evening on the couch doing their best to burrow into each other. They talk about their pasts and trust and what happened in the house. Maura tells Jane how good it felt to come out to Ian and Jane shares how afraid she was to lose Maura to the past. They share the wine and Maura refuses to share the fudge or take off the sweatshirt, even when Jane begs.

They’re gonna make it.


	14. Chapter 14

It’s been a year. A blissful, beautiful, incredible year. A year since they walked out of the house and into their real lives. They’ve decided to mark that day as their anniversary because the rest of it is muddy and complicated and fraught. But it’s been one year of being in love out in the world and it’s been amazing. Maura’s started working at BPD and Jane’s finally transferred to Homicide to work under Korsak. They talk about forever like it’s a given. Sometimes it’s hard but it’s always worth it.

Jane moved in about a month ago. She hadn’t spent a night at her apartment since the hot tub was installed in the backyard _(god bless America)_ , so it made sense to make it official. Living together is incredible. The weight they might have gained from picking up each others’ dietary habits (for Jane, three actual meals a day, for Maura, coco puffs and beer) is burned off during the best sex of their lives.

Things, honestly, couldn’t be better.

Until, two weeks after their anniversary, Jane answers a knock on the door. She’s in socks and sweats with her hair all over the place. It’s 2pm on a Saturday and she’s making her way through third breakfast while Maura’s at the grocery store. She’s promised to cook Maura an Italian feast tonight so, in their adorably equal division of labor, Maura offered to do the shopping herself.

This would have made sense, except for the fact that the incredibly well put together woman on the other side of the door is Maura’s mother. Maura’s mother Constance. Maura’s mother Constance who still doesn’t know about Jane. Jane recognizes her from the pictures on the Isles Family Foundation website. Her first thought is that the sneer from the pictures is just as present in real life.

Jane’s glad she left the bowl of coco puffs on the coffee table instead of bringing it to the door with her like she usually does. But, as Constance’s eyes wash over her and her lip curls in distaste, Jane belatedly realizes that the coco puffs are the least of her concerns.

Quickly deciding to play it dumb and stall for time, Jane looks forcefully into Constance’s eyes. “Uh, hi? What can I do for you?”

Constance’s eyebrows knit, just the slightest bit. “I’m here to see Maura Isles. I’m afraid I might have the wrong address.” She purses her lips. Jane’s sure she rarely admits being wrong.

Jane considers sending her to wait at the neighbor’s, but, sadly, has to the foresight to realize that will come back to bite her in the ass. “Oh, uh, no, you’re in the right place. Maura’s not here right now though.”

Constance’s gaze is steel. Jane wishes she were armed, just for the feeling it gives her. “And, who, precisely, are you?”

_Pretty sure you’re not supposed to start a sentence with a conjunction, lady_. “I’m Jane. I’m, uh, Maura’s roommate.”

Constance is terrible at hiding her distaste. Or maybe she’s not trying. It’s hard to tell. “I see.”

“And, who are you?” Jane knows she’s pushing her luck with her tone, but this woman is seriously pissing her off.

“I’m her mother.” Constance says it like it’s obvious. Like Jane should have known. Like everything about her is public knowledge and Jane is a dolt for not knowing it. Fury laces through Jane as she imagines sweet Maura being raised by this rigid bitch.

Jane’s been praying that Constance will leave and come back later. But apparently God is busy, because her prayer seems to be going unanswered. After a long moment of staring at each other, Jane finally sighs and opens the door wider. “Would you like to wait inside for her? She shouldn’t be gone for too much longer.”

Constance nods and steps crisply into the foyer. Her heels click sinisterly on the hardwood. Jane, internally berating herself for convincing Maura to turn the formal living room into a workout room, leads Constance to the (only remaining) real living room. She quickly removes the bowl of (now soggy) coco puffs and the two empty beer bottles from the coffee table, dropping them into the sink with a horribly loud clatter. She returns to the living room and grabs the remote. She intends to snap off the Red Sox game, but then realizes that any sort of buffer in this situation might be good, so she just mutes it.

Constance is standing at the corner of the couch, looking at the furniture like it belongs in a crack den. Jane flops onto the couch and watches with narrowed eyes as Constance grimly lowers herself into the least comfortable chair in the room, a red monstrosity that Maura loves and gives Jane a migraine.

Finally, Jane speaks. “So, is Maura expecting you?”

Constance looks annoyed at having to converse with this peon again. Jane makes a note to never be alone with her again. “No. I simply have some business to conduct with her that cannot wait. I was expecting her to be at home.” Like it’s absurd that Maura might be out of the house at 2pm on a summer Saturday.

Jane says nothing, because she can’t trust herself not to scream at Constance for being a heinous bitch. She just nods and overtly turns her attention to the game.

An eternity passes in the ten minutes until Jane hears a key in lock. Jane flings herself off the couch and into the foyer before Maura can call out something incriminating. All she’s able to say is “Jay, can you help me with—” before Jane abruptly slides into her. “Jane, what—”

“Your mother is here.”

Maura blanches, dropping the grocery bag onto the floor. “What.”

“Your mother is here.” Jane says it low, full of urgency. “Your mother is in the living room.”

Maura immediately starts hyperventilating. “Oh my god.”

“She saw my coco puffs.”

Maura honestly looks like she’s going to pass out.

Jane grabs her arm urgently. “She’s in the living room, Maura!”

“What did you tell her?” Her whisper is harsh and ragged.

“I said I was your roommate. I didn’t know what to do! But she’s there right now, Maur! What are we going to do?”

Jane feels the panic rising up inside of her, threatening to swallow her whole.

But then, in a totally unexpected move, Maura reaches out and grabs Jane’s face. “Hey,” she says softly but firmly. “I love you.”

The panic ebbs out of Jane. “I—I love you too, Maur.”

Maura nods to herself and pulls away.

“What are you going to do?”

Maura focuses her eyes on the entrance to the living room. She speaks at full volume for the first time. “Be a dear and get the rest of the groceries out of the car, would you?”

Jane grabs her arm and whispers again. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell her.”

Jane looks down at herself, horrified. “Should I shower? Or, like, put on real pants? Or, oh god, I’m not even wearing a bra.”

Maura just smiles at her. “Whatever you want, Jay. I don’t care what she thinks anymore.”

Jane can see in her eyes that, somehow, she means it. With a quick kiss to her nose, Jane runs out to the car. She opens the backseat and grabs her emergency change of clothes from her go bag. It’s luckily a casual outfit in there today, because last week she got called in on her day off, forcing her to replace the usual suit with her second best pair of jeans and a clean purple shirt. She quickly changes her clothes behind the car, giving the people on the other side of the street a nice eyeful, and spends 30 infuriating seconds attempting to wrangle her hair before giving up on it and letting it fly free. Grabbing the groceries, she heads back into the house. She goes straight to kitchen and puts away the cold and frozen foods while she shamelessly eavesdrops on Maura and her mother.

It seems like they’re still in the small talk phase. Maura is politely inquiring about Constance’s work in Europe, and Constance seems to be just listing cities and complicated sounding names.

Just as she’s finishing with the cold food, Jane’s ears perk up. “When did you get a roommate, darling? I simply cannot imagine what circumstances would force someone in your position to take in…someone like that.”

_Ugh. What a BITCH_. “Jane?” Maura’s voice is calm and steady. “Will you join us, please?”

Jane wipes her hands on a dishtowel and walks into the living room. Constance is once again perched on the red chair and Maura is on the couch. Jane stands for a second, trying to decide where is the least awkward place to sit, until Maura gently pats the cushion next to her. Jane sits, gingerly, folding her hands in her lap.

Constance raises her eyebrows at Jane’s change in outfit. Jane realizes she’s barefoot and, for some reason, that seems like a big disadvantage.

But all thoughts of how she really should have let Maura paint her toenails last week like she wanted to fly out of her head when Maura reaches over and gently takes her hand.

“Mother, Jane isn’t just my roommate. She’s my girlfriend.”

This statement is met with a wall of silence. Maura waits for a few seconds before filling it with any words she can think of. “Jane and I have been together for a while now, Mother. I know you might not approve of this kind of relationship, but we’re very happy together. Jane just moved in recently. We work together, Jane’s in law enforcement, and I sent you the announcement of my new position, so we work in the same building.” Maura trails off. Her mother’s face is completely unreadable.

Jane clears her throat to jump in—she has no idea what she wants to say, but she feels a duty to do something to help this along. But Constance holds up a hand to stop her. “Maura, you’re telling me that you and this woman are in a romantic relationship?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“For how long, exactly, has this been the case?”

“One year, two weeks, and one day.”

Constance stands abruptly. Maura does too, and Jane warily follows suit, keeping a firm hold on Maura’s hand.

“I’m very disappointed in you, Maura. This is not behavior fitting an Isles.”

And with that, she turns and walks out of the house.

 

* * *

 

Maura cries for the rest of the day and most of the next. The next night is Rizzoli family dinner – Jane tries to cancel it but Maura stubbornly insists on having it. In a surprising move, Maura asks Jane to have Angela come over early and, as soon as she arrives, Maura locks the two of them in her study for 45 minutes. When they finally emerge to relieve a frantic Jane from her lonely chopping, both have red eyes but Maura seems more at ease than Jane can believe.

At the end of the night, Jane is washing the dishes while Maura and Angela clear the table. Maura comes up behind her and wraps her arms around Jane, resting her cheek on Jane’s back. “I love you, Jay.”

Jane settles back into the embrace. “I love you so much, Maur.”

“I asked your mother if she’d give me away at our wedding.”

Jane’s throat closes up. “I assume she said yes?”

Maura nods against her back. “Thank you for bringing me into such a wonderful family.”

Jane turns and slings her arms around Maura, holding her as closely as she can. Both close their eyes, but neither is surprised when Angela comes up and wraps her arms around both of them. Maura drops her head onto Angela’s shoulder and Angela kisses it softly. “I love you, my baby girls.”

 

* * *

 

Each week Jane and Maura watch _The Bachelor,_ usually joined by Frost and Frankie and sometimes even Maura’s assistant. They started watching the season filmed directly after theirs, featuring a douche named Brady, to see how Chloe, Kelly, and Mel fared. They were both surprised to see that Chloe had declined to sign up. Jane prodded, and finally Maura reached out to her. Chloe told Maura that she’d been really inspired by Maura’s skills – she decided she wanted to be a nurse and wasn’t going to waste anymore time on _The Bachelor_. Maura became an unofficial mentor and came to have a genuine appreciation for Chloe’s sunny outlook and dedication to her new goal.

Now, Chloe has just accepted a job at Tufts Medical Center as a pediatric nurse. She was lucky to get the job fresh out of nursing school – Jane suspects Maura had something to do with it, but Maura is remarkably closed mouthed whenever she brings it up.

Chloe comes over to join them for _Bachelor_ night her first Thursday in town. She’s adorably intimidated by Jane, but she warms up after a few beers. To everyone’s surprise, she and Frankie end up hitting it off so well that he drives her home at the end of the night.

Chloe becomes a regular staple in their lives. One snowy weekend the three of them sequester themselves in the house and marathon Brady’s season because Chloe never watched it. They mock Brockton, swap theories about Kelly and Mel, share their war stories, and Jane and Maura finally tell Chloe about how they really fell in love in the house. She squeals in all the right places and cements her place as their adopted little sister.

She and Frankie get married in a small church the next fall. Their babies are adorable.

 

* * *

 

Every Thursday they watch _The Bachelor_ and every Thursday, after Chloe and Frankie and the rest go home, Jane turns to Maura and asks: “Any regrets?”

And every Thursday, without hesitation, Maura grins at her. “Not one.”

 

* * *

 

Jane proposes on a quiet rocky beach out at the end of Cape Cod. There are no cameras, no gowns, no real surprises or suspense. Maura helped pick out the ring herself months before, but Jane had made it clear that she wanted to be the propose-er, and Maura was content to wait until Jane was ready.

The wind destroys their hair and they don’t care. There are no commercial breaks and no product placement. Just two people who chose each other, fought for each other, and have already dedicated years of their lives to each other.

There are no roses at their wedding.

 

* * *

 

They send a wedding invitation to Constance. She sends her regrets.

They send her a birth announcement and she doesn’t respond.

Angela calls to invite her to the baby shower, and she, absolutely shockingly, accepts.

She sits, wide-eyed, in near complete silence for the entire shower. Her daughter’s stomach is huge and Jane waits on her hand and foot. Constance watches as Jane explains every present, and ranks every wrapping job, to the fetus, who she, bewilderingly, calls “Rookie.” Constance watches as Maura laughs more in that hour than she’s ever seen her do in her entire life.

Constance makes a lot of mistakes, but, with Angela’s help, she slowly works her way back in her child’s life.

She slowly slips from “Grandmother” to “Grandma” to “Gramma.”

She only receives the second birth announcement as a formality, because Maura called and told her about the pregnancy weeks before.

When they renew their vows after ten years of marriage, Constance is in the front row.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the renewal ceremony, Maura asks: “Any regrets?”

Jane grins. “Not one.”

 

* * *

 

Brockton rots in prison. The first six months or so he gets some pictures of Kelly’s tits in the mail, but then even those peter out.

The last piece of mail he ever gets is Jane and Maura’s wedding invitation, with “Thanks, douche!” scribbled on the back.


End file.
